Wolverines, Wendigos and Winchesters
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: SN pre-series / post X-Men Origins: Wolverine - Dean meets Wolverine during a solo hunt, which leads to friendship and a new job. NO SLASH Ch105 - BACK AND POSTING
1. Chapter 1: Crossing Paths

Supernatural and X-Men Cross-Over

Elements from the movie X-Men Origins:Wolverine and SPN Seasons 1 and 4 used. (Yes, there is ONE Season 4 spoiler but it relates only to the episode Jump The Shark. No other spoilers.)

SPN pre-series. Dean and John, Sam is only mentioned.

Wolverine is post-movie, but assuming he has regained most of his memories or that the amnesia was not as severe as the movie indicated.

**Wolverines, Wendigos and Winchesters**

**Chapter One: Crossing Paths**

Dean folded the newspaper he had been reading to display the suspicious article. Some kid had been hacked up and the authorities were still finding pieces. It was either some psycho or, hopefully, his kind of case.

After paying for his midday breakfast, the salt-and-burn last night had run a little late, Dean headed for the public library. Like most small towns, the librarian was a little old lady who had probably learned to read as a turn of the century celebration. She reminded him strongly of a nasty high school English teacher he'd had for a month, which had been three and a half weeks longer than his tolerance limit. When he walked past, Dean could feel the ancient weathered eyes following his every move and the nasty scowl directed at him. He shot another glance over his shoulder as he sat at a public computer terminal. Maybe she was that nasty bitty from high school? If so, Life hadn't been treating her well at all.

Cheered by the thought, Dean began a search on the history of the town where the kid had been killed. It was odd, but most of the local legends and lore were recent, within the last twenty years. Well, that would be consistent with a werewolf, except this was the first nasty death, although there had been a rumored disappearance. Okay, maybe it was just an odd little town a werewolf had just relocated to. Not that he was hoping to hunt down some bad-ass werewolf by himself...

Oh, who was he kidding? Dean tried Dad's cell, only half hoping the man would answer.

"Dean?" There was a lot of background noise, like Dad had the volume turned all the way up while watching a ballgame. "Hang on."

The racket died down by the time Dad spoke again. "Uh, Dean? Everything all right? What happened?"

Dad sounded a little breathless. Huh, so Dad liked to get busy with the ballgame on? He was going to have to talk to Dad about that. It was tough to have a really good time if you distracted yourself like that. Then again, maybe Dad was having a Really Wild time and needed to cover up the noise so he wouldn't get kicked out.

"Dean!"

"I'm fine, Dad." He had to stifle a chuckle at the mental image of Dad wearing a towel and talking to him from some motel hallway. "Just a salt and burn, no big deal."

"You're not hurt?" Dad demanded. "Then why are you calling?"

"Think I found a hunt," Dean explained. "Kid was found, well pieces of him, in some podunk town on the other side of the state. Thought I'd check it out, since it's close by."

"Yeah, sure," Dad said hurriedly. "Call me when you figure out what it is."

Dean grinned broadly as he pumped a fist victoriously in the air. "Yes, sir!"

"Uh, Dean?"

His fist froze in the air above his head. Crap. Had Dad changed his mind? "Yes, sir?"

"Be careful, that's an order."

The fist pumped once more. This was his hunt, all his! "Yes, sir. Bye." Dean hung up before Dad could add any stipulations.

Eyes on the article clutched in his hand, Dean felt the beaming grin on his face. "That means you're all mine."

* * *

It was a pretty average looking town, the kind where kids played ball in the street and the locals stared curiously at strangers. Funny part was, he was in the middle of Westchester County. Well, Sam would've laughed.

Dean started off in the town library, it only had one. He spent a day and a half reading through old newspapers, scrounging every story he could find for clues. It was odd, because he found tantalizing hints of strange things, like four buildings catching fire at the exact same time, no cause, and reports of odd animal noises for several nights which were investigated but the animal was never caught and apparently just moved on. All of the reports were something totally different, none of them seemed to be about the same thing. Maybe it was a hotbed of supernatural activity. Great, that meant he would need backup. Well, he could still investigate a little more on his own before calling Dad again.

Besides, Dean thought to himself as he folded his photocopies of the articles, Dad was busy. With a chuckle, he headed out of the library. The glove compartment of his car held a wooden box full of his fake IDs. The ones with Sam's picture were at the bottom. Dean couldn't bring himself to throw them out. Sam would be back. Okay, so maybe his little brother wouldn't be hunting with them any more, but Dean still clung to the thought that Sam would be back someday.

He selected a federal marshal badge before closing everything back up. Hopefully his black suit still looked good enough to pull this off. It wouldn't do in a small town like this to stop at the laundrymat to wash the suit before approaching the sheriff's office. There were a couple of motels in town, so Dean headed back to his room to change.

The suit didn't stink and the wrinkles in the knees hopefully would fall out after he wore it for a little while. The car didn't look like federal issue, but there was no way he would drive one of those beige clunkers anyway. Dean parked right in front of the sheriff's office, figuring the bolder he was the less likely they would question his credentials. It had worked every time so far.

A young guy sat behind the front desk, probably half asleep before Dean walked in. He jerked upright, a smile creasing his face as he looked at Dean. Kid was probably hoping for something to do that didn't involve lost farm animals or run-away dogs.

Dean flipped open his fake credentials. "Federal Marshal," he stated in a firm voice. "I'm here to look into that shredded body you folks found about a week ago."

The kid's face lit up. It really did. Yeah, he was seriously bored. "Federal Marshal? Really? I thought the sheriff said he couldn't get anybody out here."

Dean rolled his eyes, like he couldn't believe the kid was so stupid. "They usually say that when there's no one available, but as soon as one of us is..." He made a sweeping gesture to indicate, duh, here he was.

The kid's head bobbed eagerly. "Yes, sir! I'll get the sheriff for you!" He darted off to a door set in the wall about six feet from the front desk. He knocked before going inside.

Dean tugged nervously on the stiff white collar of his dress shirt while he waited. This was the make-it or break-it moment. If the sheriff bought his act, he was home free. He had expected the sheriff of a little town like this to be about sixty, salt-and-pepper hair, with a beer gut. Instead, the man who walked out of the back office was tall, broad, not a day over forty, with dark hair and piercing eyes. Suddenly Dean felt freaking transparent. He squared his shoulders and met the evaluating gaze straight on, making it obvious he was sizing up the local law.

The sheriff held out a meaty hand. "About time the feds sent somebody. Good to have you, Marshal …?"

"Simmons," Dean replied with a straight face. He cocked an eyebrow at the sheriff.

"Sheriff Mike Trumble," the large man replied as he pumped Dean's hand. The guy had relief written all over his face. "Folks around here are mighty upset about that kid, even though he was just passing through."

"Passing through?" Dean asked. Nothing he had read had indicated the kid wasn't from here. "But you were able to identify the body, right?"

"Oh, sure." Sheriff Trumble dropped Dean's hand to hook both thumbs into his gunbelt. "Kid was reported missing by his parents about a year ago, so we were able to get a positive ID from his picture."

Dean frowned at that. "But I thought he was a human jigsaw puzzle?"

"Yup," the large man replied with a sad shake of his head, "but the bastard who did it left his face untouched. I think he wanted us to be able to ID the body."

Dean nodded slowly. Yeah, unfortunately the sheriff had a point there. But if he was right, it meant it the culprit was most likely human and this wasn't his kind of case. Then again, Dean thought brightly, some vengeful spirits had been serial killers when they were alive, so they could stick to their old habits.

"So you're thinking serial killer," Dean ventured.

Trumble shrugged his huge shoulders. "That's your department, not mine."

"Mind if I take a look at your files? And the crime scene?" Dean asked, wondering if he would find any proof the killer wasn't human.

"No problem." Trumble nodded at the kid who had been following their conversation intently. "Brad here will make you copies of the files while we're gone. We'll take my car."

* * *

Dean hadn't been real happy to hear he would be stuck in the sheriff's car, he would have preferred to follow in the Impala, but the man had insisted. The sheriff's car was a large jeep, painted in the same brown as all the other county cop cars in this state. Trumble yammered on about how much trouble they had gone to in collecting the evidence, taking crime scene photos, and he just would not shut up. Dean remembered to nod occasionally and throw in a few grunts of approval. They turned off the main road and he assumed they were heading toward the lake, where the body had been found.

Unfortunately, this was not a road, it was just a path which happened to be devoid of trees. The way the jeep was bouncing, Dean would have bruises on his bruises.

"I hope you weren't planning on sitting down this week!" Sheriff Trumble shouted over the noise of the jeep slamming into every damn hole and rock in existence.

"Good thing I don't have a desk job!" Dean shouted back.

Trumble laughed loud and nodded. "Next couple of days are gonna suck for me!"

"I'll bet," Dean mumbled. He tried planting both feet on the floorboard and lifting his ass off the seat, but the seat just came up and whacked him in the butt anyway. It was no use. And here he thought the last 'geist had thrown him around enough. The 'geist was starting to look pretty good in comparison.

After what felt like an eternity, the jeep slowed. Dean stared out the front windshield at the stained rocks ahead. They appeared to be coated in dried blood. His stomach clenching, Dean waited for the sheriff to stop the jeep before stepping out. He wished he had his boots on instead of these sissy-damn dress shoes.

"Ought to wear boots next time," the sheriff announced in the sudden stillness which followed shutting off the jeep's engine.

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," Dean replied as he slid over the uneven rocky ground. There was no way he'd bring his car out here. Too dangerous. His baby would never make it out here in one piece, much less back to the road. Yellow tape surrounding the scene swayed gently in the soft breeze, at complete odds with the horror story it encompassed.

"The lake isn't natural. They dammed up a tributary off the big river to make it. This," Sheriff Trumble swept his hand over the rocky area, "used to be the throughway."

Dean nodded without comment as he kneeled down to inspect a particularly bloody area. There were four deep marks, like claw marks, in the rock. "What made this?" he asked.

Trumble shrugged. "Best bet is a bear, but I don't remember the last bear sighting out here. My deputy swears it's a cougar, but we didn't find any bear or big cat tracks. Of course, finding any tracks on rock would be damn near impossible, but you'd think there would be at least a bloody footprint." His head shook as a deep frown creased his face. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Dean muttered to himself as his hoped flared. Most likely only something supernatural would not leave a trace. He would have to hike out here later, by himself, to check out the area with his EMF meter. Too bad it was going to be a pain in the ass to reach, but hiking had to be better than riding in the damn jeep.

* * *

Hiking sucked. Dean had always hated camping and now he remembered why. It was a pain in the ass, plus the nearest bar was an hour hike back to the car and a twenty minute drive away. His boots made this trip more tolerable than the last one, but between the hike itself and the heavy duffel slung across his back, he was sweating by the time he arrived at the yellow tape. As he approached, the small hairs on the back of his neck stiffened, like he was being watched. Dean shifted his body nonchalantly, adjusting the pressure of his favorite handgun against his back.

From his pocket he removed the EMF meter, made from his old busted walkman during a particularly boring recuperation from some broken ribs. After turning it on, Dean walked all around the gory scene. Nothing. Less than nothing. He checked the batteries and walked around it again. Still nothing. Huh. Well, it could still be a werewolf. Those were flesh and blood, so they never left an EMF trail. He spotted something yellow on one of the rocks. His heart skipping a beat, Dean checked to see if it was sulfur. Nope, just the nasty crap that grows on rocks by lakes. Sam would know the name of it, Dean didn't really care as long as it wasn't made by a demon.

Still having the distinct feeling of being watched, Dean shoved his EMF back in his pocket before stepping back to take a few shots of the claw marks with the camera in his phone. Satisfied, he headed back the way he had come. When he reached the treeline, Dean veered sharply off, toward the lake, until he found a bush capable of hiding him.

As he crouched behind the bush, breathing lightly, Dean kept his hearing tuned for sounds which did not belong in a forest. He might hate camping, but that didn't mean he wasn't an expert in the woods, thank you Dad. His handgun felt nice and solid in his right hand.

Soon his patience was rewarded with the sounds of soft footfalls to his right, coming from the lake. Peering through the thick mass of branches in front of him, Dean could just make out the shape of a man standing about six feet away. The man stopped and sniffed the air. Weird. Then the guy looked right at Dean's hiding place.

"Okay, Bub, I don't know who you are, but you might as well come on out," the man announced.

Crap. If Dad ever found out about this, he would be doing survival drills for months. Dean stood slowly, his gun trained on the guy. Now that he had an unobstructed view, Dean could see the guy wasn't particularly big, but he had some long-ass sideburns and kind of wild dark hair. He dressed a lot like a lumberjack, minus the ax, and chewed on the end of an unlit cigar.

"If you're gonna shoot, go ahead and get it over with," the guy told him. "Then you need to get your ass outta here. It ain't safe."

"Safe?" Dean asked incredulously. "Dude, I'm the one with the gun. Now who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm the guy telling you you're in danger. Now go back home to your fluffy bed and rotten television shows." The guy snarled at him. "Go wherever the hell you want, but you ain't stayin' here."

Dean narrowed his eyes on the intruder. Werewolf? Maybe. He had no idea what they were like in their human state, and this dude was really suspicious. At least he had loaded up on silver bullets before coming out here.

"Says who?" Dean demanded.

The guy snarled at him again. "Says me." His head jerked to the side and one hand came up to wave at Dean for quiet. Dean waited, impatiently, as the guy sniffed the air again.

"We got company," he growled. Dark eyes leveled on Dean. "You blew it. Listen up, Bub, if you wanna live. Stay down and don't make a sound." He waved disdainfully at Dean's gun. "That won't do ya a damn bit of good."

Long silver claws or knives erupted from the back of the man's hands. Startled, Dean stepped back. Okay, probably not a werewolf. What the hell? No wonder the dude didn't carry an ax. Those things could be a match for the claw marks on the rocks.

"Stay," the claw-wielding lumberjack repeated before moving silently through the trees.

Stay, huh? Yeah, right. Dean crouched low as he followed, careful not to step on any twigs or give his movements away with an amateur mistake. There could be somebody in danger from this – this – what the hell was this guy anyway?

"Logan!" a deep voice thundered through the trees. "I know you're here!"

"Yeah, I'm here." Lumberjack stepped out of the trees, into the open to face another guy. Now this guy was HUGE. He had short but wild brownish-blond hair that stuck out, kind of like a mane, and some nasty-ass looking fingernails. "Getting your kicks killin' kids these days, Victor? Why doncha pick on somebody your own size?"

Dean's gaze snapped to the larger man. He was responsible? And what was he? This guy really didn't look human, unless you were going back to the cave-man days. Even his teeth were wicked sharp, which Dean could see because he was smiling at the lumberjack, Logan.

"Like who?" With a great inhuman leap, the big dude jumped over a boulder to land about six feet in front of Logan. "You?"

That's when the metal claws started flying. When these two dudes fought, they jumped so damned fast and far, they kind of looked like they could fly. Dean stayed back, in the treeline, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. It sure sounded like the other guy, not Logan, was responsible for the kid's death, and that Logan was here to stop him. Okay, that meant maybe he and this Logan character were on the same side. But a 'good' supernatural fugly? Man, did that sound about a hundred kinds of wrong. Dad would probably take back the Impala if he found out Dean was thinking about teaming up with the lumberjack.

Then it happened. Something flashed by the the guys fighting. Logan screamed, his face and back covered with bloody claw marks. He seemed to blame the other guy, Victor, for it and really laid into the fugly. Then the flash happened again, this time slashing up Victor. Now Victor paused to look around and, in the lull, Dean could see Logan's wounds were nearly gone. What the...?

"New trick, Logan?" Victor demanded, sounding ten kinds of pissed.

"Wasn't me," Logan replied with a shake of his head. He shot a sharp look in Dean's direction, like it was _his_ fault. Brother!

Now that he thought about it, how thoroughly the body had been destroyed could have been the work of a Wendigo. The better portions could have been carried off and eaten. Even if the Wendigo had not been responsible for the kill, it could have taken care of most of the remains. Okay, this was bad. Really bad. Silver bullets might slow it down, but no guarantees there. He needed fire. Crap! And he had wanted to work this job alone? He couldn't even be sure Dad remembered where he was going, the man had been so distracted on the phone. Shit!

Dean dropped the duffel hanging from his shoulder to the ground. There had to be something in here he could use. Those guys out in the open were sitting ducks. Ah-ha! Trusty old salt. Dean stepped out of his cover and began pouring it in a large circle.

"Over here!" he shouted. "Before it comes back!"

Logan sauntered over as Dean finished up the circle. He stood just outside the white line. "Before what comes back?"

Dean hesitated before answering, his father's words of warning flashing through his mind. "Wendigo," he finally said. "Damn near perfect hunter. Now get inside the salt before it can..."

Another blur and Logan was gone. Damn it!

"Logan!" the big thing, Victor, shouted. He raced on all fours up to Dean. Wonder if salt worked on this joker? "Where is Logan?" It's breath was hot and stinky.

Dean made a face as he glared into eyes which reminded him of a wild animal. "I'm pretty sure it's a Wendigo."

"Explain," Victor demanded, one hand fisting Dean's shirt and jacket to lift him above the ground.

Holy crap! Not good, not good, not good, not good...

"Cannibals," Dean stated, trying real hard not to look like he might need a change of shorts. "It gives them speed, cunning, makes 'em perfect predators."

Victor's wicked teeth showed as he smiled broadly. "And this creature has Logan?"

Dean nodded.

"Good." He dropped Dean carelessly. "If Logan survives, he should be weakened by the encounter. If not..." Victor shrugged. "Then he will no longer be my concern."

He turned to take a mighty bound away from Dean.

"You killed the kid?" Dean shouted after him.

Victor paused, down on all fours as he turned to look over his shoulder at Dean. "Of course. I had to get Logan's attention." Then, like some kind of jungle cat, the dude took off and disappeared into the forest on the other side of the rocky area.

"Great," Dean muttered as he turned towards the area he thought Logan might be. "So much for that enemy of my enemy crap." He shouldered the duffel again before listening carefully and stepping outside of his salt circle. "This Logan guy had better be worth it."


	2. Chapter 2: New Allies

**Chapter Two: New Allies**

All he did was blink. That's it. And now he was strung up in some damn tree? Logan looked around for his captors, wondering who could've gotten the drop on him like this. He extended his claws, slicing through some of his bonds. With a grunt, Logan freed himself and dropped the twelve feet to the ground.

Maybe the kid had something to do with this. If Victor hadn't killed him already, Logan promised himself that he and the kid were going to have a nice long chat. He needed to know who the kid was working for. And what was up with the salt? Maybe the kid was unbalanced, in which case he and Victor could be working together. Peering through the trees surrounding him, Logan spotted no sign of his captor. He scented the air. There was an odd smell, something he had caught a whiff of near the place where the body had been found. Before Logan had assumed the smell had to do with the body, now he wasn't so sure.

He started to head back to where he had last seen Victor, when that smell became strong again. Logan lashed out at the air around him, hoping to hurt his unseen assailants. There was a howl as something caught on his claws, but then it was gone. Growling, Logan tried to seek out his attacker, but then he heard the kid.

"Get down!" the kid hissed at him. The kid had a tree branch, one end wrapped with cloth. Logan watched curiously as the kid lit the cloth before heading over to join him.

"What's that for?" he asked with a grunt, because a torch? What century were they in again?'

"Fire," the kid answered simply. "It's the only thing that hurts 'em."

"Oh." Logan stared at the burning branch for a moment. "Got another one of those?"

The kid grinned briefly before shoving the impromptu torch into Logan's hand. "Watch my back," the kid ordered before heading for another decent sized branch a few feet away. He dropped a duffel bag to the ground beside it. Reaching in, the kid pulled out an old t-shirt. With a shake of his head and a sigh, he wound it around the branch.

"I think you hurt it," the kid was saying as he worked. "That's not good."

Logan cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yeah? Why not? I thought it was working out pretty well."

The kid shook his head at Logan as he pulled out a lighter. "Now it's mad."

"It," Logan repeated. "Kid, who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Dean Winchester," the kid replied proudly.

"All right, Dean Winchester, you said 'it'. What, exactly, is It?" Using his keen senses, Logan could smell when the fabric caught fire before the flame and smoke appeared.

"It's called a Wendigo," Dean replied, moving to stand back to back with Logan. "They start out human, more or less, until the bastards turn cannibal. Then they turn into these things, the perfect predator."

"Perfect, huh?" Logan growled. He had heard an awful lot about perfection in his life, but he had yet to see any.

"Damn near," Dean said. "We're lucky it's still light out. If we're still here in a couple of hours, we're dog food."

"Great," Logan grunted. "That's just what I wanted to hear." He turned to eye Dean warily. "You're sure slicin' an' dicin' 'em won't work?"

"Yup." Dean shrugged at him. "But if you really want to give it a shot, I won't stop ya."

Kids. Why was he always getting stuck looking after people's damn kids?

"We could just light things up," Logan suggested, waving his torch at the dry sticks and leaves covering the ground. "Might get lucky."

Dean turned to give him an incredulous glare. "Dude, you never heard of Smoky Bear?"

"Uh, no," Logan replied honestly. "Why? Friend of yours?"

Dean's eyes rolled expressively. "Not much point in saving people from a Wendigo if we kill 'em all in a fire."

Okay, so maybe the kid had a point. A little one. "I'm open for suggestions," he prompted.

"Suggestions?" Dean scoffed. "How about, let's get the hell outta here. Alive." He peered warily around them. "I'm gonna need some back-up for a Wendigo. Werewolf? Sure, no problem. But a Wendigo?"

"Werewolf?" Logan demanded. "Bub, there's no such thing."

"This from a guy with three foot claws coming out of his hands," Dean muttered with another eye-roll.

"Back to back?" Logan suggested, adjusting his stance so he could cover the kid's backside. "Won't be exactly quiet, but it might be safer."

He felt Dean shrug. "Whatever. I'm not arguin' with those claws."

Logan snorted a chuckle. "First smart thing you've said, kid."

"Don't call me kid," Dean snapped. "My car is that way." The kid used his gun to point. "It took me about an hour to hike out here."

"Great," Logan growled under his breath. "Time's a wastin'. Let's move."

* * *

The Wendigo made a few more runs on them before they reached the car, but it didn't seem to be really trying. That made Dean's stomach twist. He hoped the damn thing had left his car alone. When the black car, covered with road dust, came into view Dean heaved a breath of relief. At least it was still in one piece. Logan covered him while he popped the hood and then crawled underneath to check it out.

"Looks good," Dean announced. "Get in."

"Hurry up kid," Logan growled as he jumped into the passenger seat. "I smell somethin'."

He smelled something? Dean hit the key and had the big car in drive almost before the engine had a chance to catch. It squealed in protest of the mistreatment, but Dean had them on the road and the hell away from the rocky start of the former river tributary. He keep the gas pedal to the floor, the car sliding dangerously around dirt road corners, until they reached paved roads and buildings. Then he allowed the car's speed to drop down to the posted limit.

"What'd you smell?" he asked once he felt fairly confident in their immediate safety.

"Huh?" Logan turned in the seat to look at him.

"You said you smelled something back there," Dean explained. "What'd you mean by that?"

"Oh, uh, the Wendigo, if that's what it really is, has a nasty scent," Logan explained. The older man looked around the inside of the Impala, clearly taking stock. "So you live in this car, kid?" He picked up one of the dirty plaid shirts off the back seat with two fingers before dropping it. "Smells like it."

Dean kept his eyes on the road, his adrenaline rush keeping his nerves on end. "Pretty much," he admitted. "How about you? Live out in the woods waiting for guys like that to attack you?"

Logan scoffed loudly. "He wishes. Nah, I got a bunk a little ways north of here. I wouldn't call it 'home', but the sheets are clean and the food's decent."

Dean nodded. "So where can I drop you?"

"Tell ya what, kid," Logan said in a deep, serious voice. "I found a bar, just up this road a little ways. I'll buy the beer if you tell me all about this Wendigo thing and why you know so much about it."

Dean glanced over at the funky hairstyle, kind of like Logan wanted his hair to look like he had two giant furry ears on top of his head. "I'll buy my own beer," he announced, "and you can tell me all about big and fugly back there."

"You first," Logan insisted, his gaze shifting out the window.

Since the Wendigo was the bigger threat at the moment, and he could use the help of a dude with three foot claws, Dean agreed.

* * *

Logan stared over two empty beer mugs at the kid seated across from him. Now this character was either insane, and Logan was leaning in that direction, or Dean had an even more screwed life than he had. Choosing to go with insane because he couldn't really wrap his head around the alternative, Logan chose his next words carefully.

"So did the tooth fairy tell you that one? Or was it the Easter bunny?"

Dean started to make a face, but it was instantly replaced by a beaming smile. The waitress, a young cute thing, sauntered up to place two fresh beers on the table. She smiled and winked at Dean as she collected the empties.

He watched her walk away, eyes glued to the shrink-wrap shorts she pretended to be wearing.

"Hey, Bub," Logan prodded.

"Huh?" Dean still hadn't turned around.

"I said, where did you escape from?"

Dean turned back with a sigh. "This is why Dad says not to tell people," he muttered as he rolled his eyes. "Look Logan, I know it's difficult to accept, but it's true. There really are ghosts, werewolves, Wendigos, and all kinds of nasties who go bump in the night."

Uh-huh. "If that were true," Logan reasoned, "then the professor would know about it."

One of Dean's eyebrows arched. "The professor? You're in _college_?"

Logan glared. Hard. "Do I look like I'm in college?" he demanded. Dean's shoulders relaxed as he shook his head and reached for his beer. "The professor is a friend of mine. I'll go give 'im a call, see what he says."

Dean's eyes rolled. Again. They might fall out and roll away at this rate. Damn kid.

"Don't," Logan threatened with a growl as he stood, "touch my beer."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean waved him off. "Go call already."

* * *

Dean sipped at his beer while he waited for Logan to call his professor friend, so the dude with the deadly claws which popped out of his fists could call him crazy. Great. He ought to slip out while he had the chance. Yeah, actually, that was a great idea. Better to be alive and kicking than dead meat. After he slipped out, he could give Dad a call and bring in reinforcements. A freaking Wendigo. Man! And in the middle of two fuglies going at it, too. Could his luck get any freaking worse?

A furtive glance showed him Logan talking on the pay phone near the restrooms. Good. With a brilliant smile at their waitress, Dean threw down a few bills for tip before heading out the front door. At least he had his own car this time. Last time he had been out this way it had been with the sheriff. Couldn't exactly ditch the local law while riding in the dude's jeep. Jesus, that jeep. His ass was still complaining.

The last damn thing he needed was this Logan dude deciding he was crazy and getting in the way. Besides, if Dad took one look at those claws, he'd go after Logan. Dean had the feeling he and Logan were basically on the same side. And he wasn't too confident Dad could take Logan. Dad was good, the best, but Logan? The dude was freaky.

Deciding he wanted to be as far as possible from Logan before calling Dad, Dean jumped into the Impala and fired his girl up. He pulled out slowly, not wanting to attract attention, to head for his motel. Hell, he should probably drive to the next town and stay the night there, but he left some stuff in his room. Crap. Well, maybe Logan would talk to his professor for a while. Dean was pretty sure the guy was on foot anyway.

The Impala pulled into the motel parking lot looking pretty damned dusty even in the waning sunlight. He paused to look at her before heading into his room.

"Baby, if I had time, I'd bathe you. You know that." Sighing deeply, Dean pushed open the door to his room. It appeared untouched. Dean tried to pack quickly, but he had had a couple of shotguns out and disassembled for cleaning. Crap. He wouldn't leave without those in operating condition, so he took the precious minutes required to reassemble the shotguns and put away all of his cleaning supplies. Then he gathered the rest of his things in his second duffel. When both were packed, Dean headed back outside with the duffels over his shoulder.

After depositing his stuff in the back seat, Dean patted the top of his car. "First chance I get, Baby, you're getting a bath. Promise."

"That's a sign of somethin', you know," a deep voice said from behind him.

Oh, crap! Now how the hell did that happen? Dean turned slowly to face Logan, who stepped into sight from behind a SUV chewing on his damn cigar. He took it out of his mouth to wave around as he spoke.

"Talkin' to your car. Ain't a good sign, bub." He stuck the cigar back in his mouth and chewed on it while Dean's mind raced for anything that might keep this whacko from going into slicing and dicing mode.

Dean squared his shoulders as he met Logan's steady gaze. "Dude, I wasn't going to sit around waiting for you to tell me how crazy I am."

Logan snorted, glancing at the car and then him, clearly meaning Dean had just proven the point.

"Actually," another voice said, "I don't believe Logan was going to say that." A bald man in a wheelchair rolled into view, stopping right beside Logan. "Dean, is it? A pleasure. I'm Professor Xavier." Long thin hands folded in his lap. "We have a lot to discuss. I certainly hope you haven't turned in your room key quite yet."

* * *

Logan had watched the Professor interview people before, mostly other mutants, but he hadn't ever heard anything as outrageous as this.

"And spirits?" The Professor asked, leaning forward in his chair. "How do you kill those?"

"Salt and burn the remains," Dean replied with a shrug, soundin' like he did it every day. Hell, the kid might think he did, at that. This one needed a rubber room, and maybe some of them shock treatments.

"Fascinating," the Professor murmured before launching into another ridiculous question, no doubt trying to trip the kid up. Logan wished the Professor would just do it already. Victor was out there and so was some damn thing that moved so fast he couldn't even see it. He ought to be out there findin' the bad guys, not in here on guard duty to satisfy the Professor's curiosity.

_Easy, Logan_, the Professor's voice boomed in his head. _Dean Winchester certainly believes he is telling the truth. The real question is, if he is right, why haven't we noticed it before now? He is describing ages-old threats to the entire human race, normals and mutants alike._

Logan snorted as he glared at Dean. He couldn't believe the Professor was fallin' for this crap.

"Yeah?" Logan challenged, breaking into the absurd conversation. "If alla this is true, why ain't I never seen it?"

Professor Xavier nodded slowly. "Logan does have a point there, Dean. He has been around for quite some time."

"How long?" Dean asked with a quizzical look. "Fuzzy over there doesn't look much older than me."

"Fuzzy?" Logan growled, clamping down on his cigar.

Professor Xavier chuckled and waved a hand in the air, his signal to back down. Fine. But the second the Professor said this kid was nuts, it was his turn.

"Please, Logan. Your thoughts are rather loud," Professor X complained.

"I ain't waitin' outside," he snapped. Logan had a feeling, from the way the kid moved and acted, that Dean could put the Professor in a world of hurt of he wanted.

"Oh, Dean wouldn't hurt me," the Professor said with a chuckle. "As a matter of fact, he has been wondering if his brother's college professors are as not-totally-boring as I am."

Logan rolled his eyes before shifting his gaze from the Professor's confident smile to Dean. Dean had an intense expression Logan hadn't noticed before, like they were being studied instead of doin' the studyin'. Then the intense expression was replaced with a cocky grin.

"So how old is fuzzy?" Dean asked, perfectly innocent. Right. As if. Smart-ass punk.

"I would prefer you not calling your father, Dean. At least not yet. I can assure you, Logan would be more helpful than a normal human if you are indeed hunting a Wendigo." Professor X nodded seriously. "Yes, I said normal human. You see, Logan and I are both mutants."

Now Dean frowned at both of them, his eyes shifting warily between them. "What the hell is a mutant?"

"Oh, come on!" Logan snapped. "Professor, he ain't serious!"

"Logan, maybe a demonstration for our young friend is in order," the Professor suggested. "He already knows I can read his mind, but Dean has assumed I am merely a psychic. Perhaps you can be more convincing."

Logan groaned, but he rolled up his left sleeve anyway. If the Professor thought it was a good idea, it must be. Besides, it wouldn't hurt. Not really. He extended the claws from his right hand, watching how Dean stiffened from across the room. With a grin, Logan pulled the adamantium blades through the flesh on his left forearm. He held it up for Dean to see it better. Within moments, the wounds stopped bleeding and the skin began to grow back.

Professor X sighed deeply as he stared at the kid. "Dean, since that was not good enough, perhaps I can convince you. Logan, this could take a few minutes." The Professor lifted two fingers to press against his temple as he stared at Dean. The kid got this far-away look on his face. Yup, the Professor was in the kid's head. Well, it wasn't like the Professor would get lost in there. Logan had a feeling there wasn't enough in the kid's head for that. He leaned against the wall to keep watch. He'd take boring guard duty with the Professor over an exciting one any day.

* * *

Dean blinked slowly, feeling like he was waking from a vivid dream. He had been dreaming this professor dude had been taking a walk through his life, from when Dad first started leaving him and Sam alone up to meeting Logan out by the lake, the Reader's Digest version. The room came into focus with the professor dude in the wheelchair opening his eyes and Logan glaring daggers at him.

"Logan," the Professor said in a strained voice, "would you be so kind as to bring a glass of water, please."

It wasn't a question, not really. It was pretty obvious the Professor expected Logan to do anything he asked. There was a soft grunt as Logan pushed off the wall. He walked over to the bathroom sink with heavy footsteps. All Dean could do was watch. His body felt heavy, like maybe he was still half asleep. Logan returned with a full glass for the Professor. The Professor accepted it with a shaking hand.

"What about the kid?" Logan asked as he handed it over.

The Professor shook his head. "I'm afraid he is telling the absolute truth, Logan. This young man has seen as many horrors in his short life as you have, despite the fact he has never been in a formal war." An elegant hand rubbed at his temple as he sipped the water. "Logan, you'll have to help Dean destroy this Wendigo before it attacks again. It is imperative. Then you may resume your search for Victor."

"You're not serious?" Logan asked, his wonder clear in his voice. "Professor, this kid needs a rubber room!"

"Says the dude with too much hair gel," Dean said. "How the hell do you get claws like that, anyway? Whoa, did I say that out loud?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Logan, as long as Dean is with you, he will be unable filter his thoughts," the Professor said. "He is in a mental state very similar to inebriation, but without all those nasty side-effects."

"You mean I gotta listen to ev'rything comin' out of his head? Joy." Logan grimaced.

"I'm not too thrilled either, fuzzy," Dean replied. "Besides, I work alone."

"You were planning to call your father," the Professor pointed out, "for back-up."

Dean snorted a laugh. "Yeah, like he was going to answer. He's off with some hot old chick. You know, Fuzzy's type."

"Hey!" Logan barked at him. Dean laughed openly now.

"It's merely his mental state, Logan. You'll have to excuse it. I could have mentally projected the information on hunting supernatural creatures into your head, but I thought it might be a bit overwhelming. Instead, I made it impossible for Dean to withhold information from you."

"Like that's gonna work," Dean muttered. "I'm gonna sneak off first chance I get."

"Honestly, Professor, you think I can't handle it?" Logan demanded.

The Professor simply smiled. "Logan, I simply see no need for you to handle this alone. It isn't like you're going to be hunting these things the way Dean and his father do. Once you have helped Dean on this particular hunt, I will expect you to return to the business of mutants."

"Mutants, schmutants," Dean said, wondering why the hell he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. "They're all just people. And people are friggin' crazy." He snorted. "I'll take a nasty-ass poltergeist over a politician any day."

Logan chuckled. "You know, I might be startin' to like 'im."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, joy. Are we gonna do each other's hair, too? Cause I got a real good electric razor." He pointed at Logan's wild hairstyle. "It'll take care of that. And maybe the professor's got some nail polish we can borrow."

Logan's eyes squeezed shut. "I take it back. Please tell me we c'n get this over with ta-night."

Dean shook his head. "No way, dude. I'm not goin' after a Wendigo at night. If you want it to catch you again, go ahead. I'll come find what's left of your body in the mornin'."

"What's left?" Logan demanded, his eyes flying open. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dude, you can't heal back, if they eat all of you." Dean shrugged. "Then again, you might be able to feed 'em for a long, long time." He shook his head. "Nah, I think they like hunting fresh meat, so that probably wouldn't work."

"What?!" Logan shouted.

"Easy, Logan," the Professor said in a calm voice. "He wasn't seriously going to suggest you offer yourself as a perpetual main course, Dean was merely voicing a random thought."

"I think I'd prefer he be able to keep things to himself, Professor," Logan said in a low growl.

"I do apologize, but I do not think that is a risk worth taking."


	3. Chapter 3: Quite A Pair

**Chapter Three: Quite a Pair**

Logan walked Professor X outside, where Storm waited for him. The Professor talked the whole way back to the jet.

"He's really quite intelligent, Logan. I would suggest listening to Dean carefully and not discounting everything he says. He is quite used to people not taking him seriously, so he tends to speak a bit more than he should. Of course, at the moment, he has no choice in the matter." Professor X paused at the ramp to the jet, with Storm looking at them curiously. "Dean has a propensity for throwing himself into dangerous situations, Logan. You'll have to watch out for him."

"Great," Logan growled, "I'm babysittin'."

"Is he a mutant?" Storm asked as the Professor headed up the ramp.

"Unfortunately, no. He would have made a most interesting addition." Professor X chuckled at Storm's confusion.

"Don't ask," Logan muttered when she shot him a questioning look. Storm shrugged before following the Professor into the jet.

_Logan_, the Professor's voice sounded in his head, _I believe Dean is contemplating an escape_.

"Yeah, 'cause the fun just don't end." He searched in his pockets for another cigar as he walked back to his new assignment.

* * *

"Mutants, telepaths, freaky claws..." Dean snorted to himself as he pulled out his cell. "Dad won't believe any of this. Probably think I'm high or somethin'." He paused with his finger ready to hit the call button. "Damn it. He probably will think I'm makin' it all up, or have a concussion. What about Bobby? Bobby'll believe me. And why the hell am I saying all this out loud?"

Dean scrolled through his phone list for Bobby's number. "Yeah?"

Instant relief flooded through him at the sound of the deep, gravelly voice. "Hey, Bobby. It's Dean."

"Dean! How the hell are ya, boy? What're you and your daddy up to?" Bobby asked with a deep chuckle.

"Bobby, have you ever heard of mutants?" Dean decided to just plunge right in. Dad always said pleasantries were a waste of air anyway.

"Boy, you been watchin' those weird movies again?" Bobby demanded.

"No," Dean snapped. "Well, actually, yeah, but that has nothin' to do with this. Guess you never heard of 'em, huh?"

"Well, there are rumors, of course, but there are rumors about aliens killin' JFK too. What's this all about?" Bobby asked. There had been some noise in the background, but it was gone now. Dean had his full attention, and Logan freaking walked back in.

"Crap," Dean breathed.

"Dean? Talk to me," Bobby said in the voice Dean rarely disobeyed.

"Have to go, Bobby," Dean said as Logan scowled at him. He closed his phone, returning the scowl. "What?"

"Professor said you was thinkin' about leavin'. Without me." Logan chomped down on his stupid cigar.

"You know, I got a light." Dean pulled his favorite lighter out of his pocket, tossing it at Logan. "Why don't you use it."

Logan tossed it back, right at his face. Without flinching, Dean snagged it out of the air with one hand. "Don't smoke."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well that figures. I'm hungry. If you want to keep an eye on me, you'd better keep up."

Logan pulled open the door. "After you, kid."

"I'm not a damn kid," Dean muttered as he walked past the dangerous mutant. The Professor hadn't just taken a walk down Dean's Memory Lane, he had also left some information behind. Mutants were everywhere. He had probably met a number of them in his travels and never knew it. One important piece of information the Professor had given him was about Logan. The dude was pretty much indestructible, so Dean could use him as bait or a shield against the Wendigo.

"Not supposed to do it myself, I guess," Dean said as he opened the door to his car.

"Do what?" Logan asked as he headed for the passenger door.

"Lure the Wendigo into a trap," Dean replied, sliding into his seat.

"Reckon that's s'posed to be me." Logan snorted as he shifted the cigar to the other side of his mouth.

"Apparently," Dean agreed. He hit the key and listened to the purr. "Like a freaking kitten, right?"

"Whatever, kid," Logan grunted. "So do we have a plan for gettin' rid of this thing?"

"We?" Dean asked with a snort. "So now it's we, huh? I don't suppose you have any ideas, since you're so much older and wiser?"

He could feel the heat of Logan's glare. "Listen up, Bub, this ain't my idea. You're s'posed to be the expert here."

"I'm the expert?" Dean barked out a laugh. "I thought I was just a kid."

Logan groaned. "Believe me, this is harder for me than you, kid. And I got a feelin' you have a plan."

"Well," Dean said, thinking out loud, "we'll have to lure it out in the open, and then hit it with fire. It'd be nice if we could dig a pit and trap it, but I don't think we'll have time."

"Fire. Yeah, you mentioned that before." One of Logan's hands drummed on the door. "Think a flame-thrower'd work?"

Dean nodded seriously. "Yeah, it should. I don't suppose you have any connections for buying one?" Silence met his question. "Figures. Okay, I'll make a couple of calls while we're waitin' on the food."

* * *

Logan listened as the kid haggled with some reprobate on the phone over the price of two flame-throwers. He almost interrupted to say they only needed one, but he had always wanted to try out one of those things. Why should the kid be the only one to have all the fun? He kept hearing Dean muttering under his breath, which Logan had finally figured out was the kid's thoughts. Guess Dean had figured it out too, and that's why he was mumblin'. Looked like Professor X was right and the kid's elevator actually went to the top floor.

"_Freaking crook_. Look I said I wouldn't pay more than two, and I meant it. _Probably bought the damn things for twenty bucks anyway_. What? No I didn't say a frigging thing. So do we have a deal or not? … Hell no, I won't drive out to your place, you live too damn far. We'll meet you halfway, at the cabin. ... Nah, Jim won't mind, I'm like family. So? Deal? … Dude, do I look like a god-damned realtor? Ask Jim yourself if you want to stay at his freaking cabin. … Well that's what you get for pulling that kind of crap in a preacher's house, you dumbass. Just be there in four hours." Dean rolled his eyes before shoving the phone in his pocket. "Unbelievable. Some freaking people."

"You got the flame-throwers?" Logan asked, trying to sound unimpressed.

"Yeah. _Probably take every last dollar I have_." Dean dug out his wallet to flip through the contents. "_Good thing I have a fresh credit card for gas and food."_

"Kid? You got cash problems? Cause I c'n call the Professor..." Logan started to offer when Dean cut him off.

"It's fine," he said firmly. "_I don't need any damn charity_. I know how to take care of myself. No problem."

Logan shrugged. "No skin off me."

Dean chuckled over that. "Like you'd miss it." His eyes rolled back again and he sighed. "_Damn, better get the food to go, we won't have time to eat it here_."

"Good thinkin'," Logan agreed with a nod. "We can tell the waitress who likes makin' eyes at you when she comes back by. She'll probably draw little hearts all over your container, too."

Dean sighed as he looked behind him for the waitress. "_I was hoping she wanted a little company tonight. Too bad I have to work._"

This kid was a real piece of work. When the waitress brought their food in to-go containers, Logan noticed Dean's had a phone number written on it. The kid grinned and winked before making a production of adding it to his phone, and the gal seemed to melt on the spot. Logan would be willing to bet Dean wouldn't even have to buy her dinner. Maybe he should be takin' notes.

Two burgers and an hour later Logan stared out at the moonless night as they drove down an east-bound interstate. The kid's rotten music blared from the speakers so loud he'd probably be deaf before they arrived at wherever the hell they were going. When Logan reached to turn down the volume, he received a nasty look and saw Dean's mouth moving. Oh, so that was it. He couldn't hear the kid's thoughts with this deafening crap on. So he turned it off.

"How much longer?" he asked Dean.

"Couple of hours." Dean sighed heavily. "Mind if I..." He reached out for the volume knob again.

"Yeah, I mind," Logan snapped. "My head's still ringin'. Leave it off."

"_Well so much for that_," Dean mumbled. "_Nice while it lasted_."

"I'm sure," Logan agreed. He couldn't even muster up any sympathy for the kid having to voice all of his thoughts, not with his head ringin' like this. "So how long you been doin' this, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Dean snapped, real irritable. Like Logan cared if the kid was irritable.

"Most everybody is a kid compared with me," Logan told him, though he wasn't sure why he was telling the kid about himself. "If you'd fought under Hood, or remembered Sherman's march to the sea, I'd take it back."

"Sherman?" Dean's brow wrinkled. "Dude, wasn't that during the Civil War?"

"Don't know why I bothered," Logan grunted. "I'm Canadian."

The big car slowed as Dean pulled off on the shoulder of the road. He stared at the steering wheel a long time, his mouth moving and a real soft mumble, so soft Logan couldn't catch most of it even with his sensitive hearing, before he spoke. "So your healing ability. It means you don't get old?"

"That's what the Professor says," Logan told him. "Me? I never really cared why. Just the way it is."

Now Dean's head turned slowly to look at him, a penetrating gaze which made him just a touch uneasy. "How many wars have you been in?"

Logan pulled out a fresh cigar to chomp on. He shrugged. "Most of 'em. Both world wars, just seemed like the best idea at the time. 'specially the second one. Man, I hate them Nazi bastards. Not real fond of the Viet Cong, either."

Dean's lips were moving again, but real quiet-like. Logan figured he might have to call Professor X to let him know Dean kept workin' around the little safeguard the professor had left behind.

"You still didn't answer my question, kid. How long you been chasin' things in the woods?" Logan tried to steer them back on track. He had talked about himself enough, it was the kid's turn.

Dean shrugged as he put the car back in drive. "_Don't want them beating us there_. I don't chase things in the woods that often. Ghosts, vengeful spirits and poltergeists usually hang out in people's houses."

One hand rubbing at his throbbing temple, Logan tried again to get a straight answer. Kid was a might slippery. "Fine. How long have you and your family been doin' that?"

There was a short sigh before Dean answered. "Since I was four. _Since Mom died_."

It was pretty obvious Dean hadn't wanted to say the last part, that he had just been thinkin' it, so Logan decided to cut the kid a little slack. "Four, huh? Guess that's when your father started. When was your first kill, or whatever you call it."

Dean chuckled a little. "_Can you call it a kill if it's already dead? Good question_. Oh, I dunno. Maybe twelve or thirteen. _More like nine_."

Logan had to stare at the youthful face behind the wheel. He looked like a kid, but there was the easy confidence he moved with, the set of his mouth when he scowled, and his eyes. Logan hadn't wanted to admit it before, not even after the Professor's little speech about what the kid had been doing with his life, but he had seen eyes like Dean's before. During a war, you tended to run into a few soldiers who had that look. It typically meant that guy had seen too much, a helluva lot more than the average person could handle. Logan was usually wary of men who had eyes like that, most of 'em were unstable. A few though, there were always a few who could handle it, and those were the ones who would stick by his buddies no matter what, who would head into hell with you without so much as blinking, someone you could really count on. Logan wondered which kind Dean was.

"Just a kid, huh?" Logan asked. "Your daddy really let you go after somethin' when you was that young?"

"Let?" Dean's face split in a broad grin. "Dude, it was a training exercise. _Like I had a choice_." He scoffed under his breath. "You should meet my dad. He's the best at this. _If I thought he'd believe any of this, I would've already called him_."

The conversation was veering dangerously into touchy-feely crap, which meant he needed to put a stop to it. "These guys we're meetin'. Friends of yours?"

Dean made the scoffing noise again. "Hardly. They're basically arms dealers. Real scumbags, only worried about their own profits, but they don't ask questions." He shrugged. "So they're safe to deal with."

"Safe? That don't sound too safe to me." Logan snorted at him, maneuvering his cigar to the other side of his mouth for a while.

"_Good grief, why all the frigging questions?_ They're safe because they don't ask what we use the stuff for. I dig up graves for a living." Dean shot him a hard look. "That's usually illegal. _Not to mention our credit card scams_."

"So we don't trust 'em." Logan nodded to himself. "Got it." He fell into silence as the road wore on under their wheels. Dean started tapping on the steering wheel, softly singing the same kind of crap that had been playing earlier.

* * *

If he concentrated on song lyrics, Dean wouldn't have to spill his guts. So, as embarrassing as it was, he sang the rest of the way to Jim's cabin. It was a decent cabin, nothing fancy, just four walls and a good solid roof. They had holed up here more than once, usually any time Dad wanted to work on their survival training. Now it was a welcome sight, nestled in among the trees, invisible from the road. Dean parked in a cleared area behind the cabin, where the roof extended an extra eight feet straight out to protect vehicles from falling debris.

He stepped out of the car and stretched, mumbling all the while under his breath about what he needed to do before the scumbags showed. If all his mumbling bothered Logan, the dude never showed it. As a matter of fact, his 'companion' had been rather quiet the last hour or so.

"Thank God for small favors," he muttered and smiled. "Jim'd appreciate that."

"Who's Jim?" Logan asked as he peered around at their surroundings.

"A friend," Dean said with a shrug. "He owns this place."

"Sure your friend won't mind us meetin' some unsavory characters here?" Logan asked, but he didn't really sound concerned.

Dean shook his head. "Jim calls it hunter's privilege. Any time one of us needs the cabin, it's available."

"That what ya call yourselves, huh? Hunters?" Logan's cigar wobbled up and down as he chewed on it.

"_What else?_ Yeah, we're hunters. Why? Got a better name?" Dean pulled his wallet out again to thumb through the bills inside. "_Just enough. They better not jack up the price._"

A loud snort came from in front of the car. Logan stood there with three long metal claws, more like swords, coming out of the back of one hand. "Don't worry, kid. They ain't messin' with the price, unless it's goin' down."

"Yeah, that's exactly what we need. _Moron_. Put those away," Dean snapped with a wave of his hand. "Come on." He led the way to the cabin. The door was unlocked, as usual. "_Jim's always too __trusting_," he muttered. Dean stepped over the salt line just inside the door.

"Watch that," he warned Logan, pointing out the salt.

"What is that?" Logan asked. He knelt down to sniff at it. "Salt? Whaddya need salt for?"

"Keeps out things that go bump in the night," Dean replied absently. Something felt off. "This isn't right."

"What ain't right?" Logan asked quickly, his entire body tensing. He looked around suspiciously, like something might jump out at him any second.

"Not sure. _Somebody's been here recently. No sign of a car. Cabin doesn't smell musty. Too clean. Why would somebody break in to clean? Must be Jim_." Dean slid his cell out. "_Better call before the scumbags arrive_." He caught Logan watching him with a curious expression, which Dean would prefer to ignore. Too bad he couldn't trust the guy enough to turn his back.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jim," Dean said smoothly. "It's Dean. I wanted you to know I need the cabin for a couple of hours tonight. Have you loaned it out to anybody recently?"

"I don't believe anyone has been there in quite some time, Dean," Jim replied. "I've been meaning to drive up and air the place out, but I've been pretty busy."

"Yeah, I understand." He frowned at his surroundings. "_Really weird_. Okay, Jim, thanks. Hey, have you heard from Sam lately?"

"Unfortunately, no. It appears your brother has not only cut his family out of his life, but everyone who reminds him of his upbringing. I have tried calling, but he will not return my messages. I'm sorry, Dean."

"_Damn it_. Yeah, well, thanks for trying, Jim. It was worth a shot, huh?" he asked weakly.

"It certainly was," Jim's strong voice came through the phone. "And I will not give up, Dean. Nor should you. Do you hear me, Dean?"

"Yeah, I hear ya," Dean sighed. "Okay, Jim. I'd better go, I'm expecting company."

"I won't ask," Jim said in a stern voice, "as long as you promise to call more often."

Dean rolled his eyes. "_Yeah, yeah. Whatever_. Sure, Jim. Bye." He tucked his phone back in his pocket. "_Damn_."

"So this Jim hasn't loaned the place out, huh, kid?" Logan asked.

"Nah. He said no one's been here in a while." Dean pointed out the salt line they had to step over. "But that's fresh, so it doesn't make sense. About the only other person who would just assume he could use the place is Dad, but he's not even in this state. _Unless Dad was lying to me again._"

The sounds of a car approaching cut off any other questions Logan might have had. Dean pulled out his piece from his back waistband and checked the clip. Full. He positioned himself in the kitchen area, out of direct line of sight from someone walking through the front door. The car stopped just outside the door. Dean kept his gun loose and easy in his hand with his eyes pinned to the door.

The engine outside cut off. He glanced over to see what Logan was up to. The dude stood right in the middle of the room watching him with this weird half-smile on his face. Dean held his breath so when his mouth said "Weirdo" it wouldn't be audible.

Footsteps. Two people. As the door creaked open, tension rippled through Dean's shoulders. His arm snapped up, the gun merely an extension of his body, as his eyes narrowed on his quarry. A hand holding a six pack of beer appeared through the opening.

Dean barked out a short laugh. "Where I can see you, Ollie." He waited until the short, slim man stepped into view.

"Who's with you?" Dean demanded, gun still raised.

"Uh, nobody," Ollie said in a weak voice.

"I can hear him, Ollie. Bring your worthless partner in," Dean ordered. He waited until a second man, much younger and taller, walked in to view. The partner carried a large black case. "You packin'?"

Ollie and his partner both lifted their shirts and jackets to show they were clean. "_Like I believe that_," Dean muttered, hoping it was low enough no one else heard him. He glanced over at Logan, who gave him a serious nod. "_Coast is clear_."

Dean motioned to the only table in the room, which conveniently seated four. "Let's get to it."


	4. Chapter 4: The Problems With Kids

**Chapter Four: The Problems With Kids**

The kid knew his business, Logan would give him that. The scumbag arms dealers tried to jack up the price, offered extras 'at a bargain', but Dean wouldn't put up with any of it. When they pressured him, the kid offered to play 'em a couple of hands of poker for the full price. Both scumbags backed down. Now there had to be a story behind that. Maybe on the drive back he would be able to at least make Dean think about it, so the kid would have to talk. Logan kept a steady expression as he realized just how much it would annoy the kid. Maybe he would have a little fun on this baby-sitting assignment.

They hung around for a few minutes after the scumbags left, rechecking the flame-throwers to be sure they really worked. They did. Then Dean cased the cabin again with a worried look on his face.

"I'll have to call Jim later and meet him up here to check the place over again," Dean muttered as he walked along the far wall. "He doesn't need any surprises."

* * *

John Winchester peered down at Jim's cabin. He hadn't expected to see the Impala parked behind it, that was for sure. Wasn't Dean supposed to be on a job? What was he hunting? John wracked his brain, but he couldn't remember and he wasn't positive Dean had even said, and that bothered him. He would like to blame it on the fact Dean had called him during the ballgame and nearly given him a heart attack, but he couldn't. It wasn't like it had been on purpose. Dean couldn't have known what he was doing. Or with who. Thank God.

"Dad?" Adam asked from behind him. "Is everything all right?"

John turned swiftly from the cabin to face the boy. "Sure, son. I was just thinking, how would you like to really camp out? In the tents?"

Adam was thirteen, but the way his face lit up reminded John of Dean at three. Shit. What was Dean doing here? He kept the cabin in sight for as long as he dared, but John never saw Dean. At least he could be fairly certain Dean never spotted him, either. How the hell would he explain Adam to Dean? Gee, son, I'm only human. Yeah, right. That would go over about as well as a lead balloon. Besides, Dean had just started to relax a little, have some fun without Sam around. John wasn't about to screw that up, too.

As he followed Adam back to a pretty spot by the lake, John fingered the cell phone he had in his pocket. He pulled it out to stare at it, wondering if he should call and check up on what Dean was doing. Dean was perfectly capable, he argued with himself, and well trained. But he was still John's son, and that meant John wouldn't be sleeping much tonight.

"Dad?" Adam looked worried. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

Filled with instant resolve, John pressed on the power button to turn the damn thing, and his temptation, off. "Nah," he replied in a strong voice. "I'm just making sure work can't call. We don't want them ruining our fun, do we?"

Adam beamed at him with the kind of happiness he couldn't ever remember seeing in either Dean or Sam. Damn him.

* * *

With the flame-throwers safely packed away in the back, Dean pointed the car the way they had come. The interstate was in decent shape, so he didn't have to worry about potholes in the dark. It would be nice if he could crank his tunes, but Logan had threatened to slice through the tape player and Dean was pretty sure a replacement wouldn't be easy to come by.

"_Perfect frigging bait_," he mumbled as he drove, a plan forming in his mind. "_All we have to do is tromp out in the woods and get the damned thing's attention. Maybe there's a kosher butcher around I can hit in the morning_."

"Butcher?" Logan asked, taking the stupid cigar out to wave around. "What do ya need a butcher for?"

"Blood." The word was out of his mouth before he could even try to stop it. "We should be able to lure it out with the scent of blood. Looks like the dead kid's body was what brought it there in the first place. I'm guessing it's been hangin' around, hoping your buddy Victor would bring it another easy kill." Dean paused to rub at the back of his neck. "Which is kind of weird, because I thought Wendigos liked a good hunt. Easy pickings just don't seem to be their style."

"But you're sure that's what this is?" Logan asked, looking worried for the first time. "Right?"

"Yeah," Dean said on a sigh. "Has to be. Nothing else fits. _But maybe I should call Dad, just to be sure_." Logan didn't move or say anything to stop him, so Dean pulled out his cell. Dad's number was easy, all he had to do was call the last number again.

"'lo?" a rough, gruff voice answered. It took him a minute to place it, because he hadn't been expecting to hear it.

"Bobby? Are you with Dad?" Dean asked, astounded.

"Nah. Forgot who you called last again, huh?" Bobby chuckled at him. "So what's up, Dean? You never did tell me what it is you're huntin'."

"Oh. Right." Dean gave his head a small shake. "I'm almost positive it's a Wendigo."

"Wendigo?" Bobby demanded and he sounded pissed. "Don't tell me you're going after it by yourself?"

Dean glanced to his right. "Not by myself. Honest, Bobby."

A whoosh of air sounded through the phone, making Dean grin. "Better not be, boy, if you know what's good for ya. So you're almost positive, huh? What's that mean?"

"I don't suppose you've heard of a Wendigo who likes easy kills? A lazy one?" Dean asked hopefully.

A loud 'hurrumph' barreled from the phone and Dean knew the pissy 'you-gotta-be-kidding' expression was plastered all over the old man's face. "A lazy Wendigo? Hell, I guess. If it was lazy before it started eatin' people, it might stay lazy. Takes all kinds. Please tell me you have more to go on than just some dead body."

"Little pieces from a dead body, claw marks, and I watched something move so fast it was just a blur go after a couple of guys. It took one of 'em and tied him up in a tree," Dean explained.

"Yeah, that's a Wendigo all right," Bobby confirmed. "What's the plan?"

Dean grinned as he relayed the news. "I always wanted my own flame-thrower."

Bobby laughed. "Boy, you're incorrigible. Need any help? I hate the idea of you goin' after this thing by yourself. Where is it, anyway?"

"A little town just inside Westchester County, north side of the state," Dean explained.

"I've been hearin' a lot about that county. Lots of strange things happen there," Bobby said slowly. "So, do you need help or what? You never said."

"Nah, I kind of ran into another hunter out here," Dean told him.

"Tell me it's not the guy who was up in the tree," Bobby demanded.

"All right. I won't." Dean chuckled at the huff through the phone. "Don't worry about it, Bobby. I'll be fine."

"Does your daddy know what you're up to?" Bobby asked.

"He's not answering his phone," Dean lied. It wasn't like he'd tried, either, so it could be true. "I guess he's busy. I need to go, Bobby."

"Call me!" Bobby barked at him before he could hang up.

* * *

Bobby stared at the phone for a moment after hanging up. Dean's tone had been a little off. Plus, he had asked if Bobby was with John, because he had forgotten who he called last. At the end there, he had claimed John wasn't picking up. So how the hell would Dean know if John was picking up if he hadn't called? Damn Winchesters were going to be the death of him.

Bobby picked the receiver back up to call one of his oldest friends, wondering if he would have to hunt down and kick the man's ass. It rang straight over to voice-mail. Great. Maybe Dean had tried before calling him the last time. Bobby waited for the beep.

"It's Bobby. Dean's after a Wendigo. Sounds like he ran into another hunter to help him, but he wouldn't give me a name. Thought you'd want to know, even though you're not picking up your god-damned phone!" Bobby slammed the receiver down to show his dear, dear friend what an ass Bobby thought he was.

* * *

When John woke, the first rays of dawn were peeking over the horizon. He slipped out of the small pup tent. The tent pitched next to his still housed a sleeping Adam. As he headed for the lake's edge to splash some cool water on his face, John recalled the first time he had taken Sammy and Dean into the woods. It had been for survival training, of course. At the time, it hadn't bothered Sammy. The kid had brought books along so he could identify the local fauna and animal tracks while his older brother teased him about it. But John had noticed that Dean never hid any of Sammy's books and seemed to be proud when his little brother knew things he didn't.

The lake water slapped his face with merciless cold, shocking his system into full wakefulness. Damn it, what was Dean up to in Jim's cabin? Typically they only used it to recover from injuries which would require more than a week's downtime, or to meet some of the characters it was safer not to meet in a bar or public place. Oh, God, what was Dean up to?

John forced his hand to be steady as he removed the cell phone from his pocket. He tried to be patient as it powered up. Three voice mails. Crap. With gritted teeth John retrieved his messages.

The first one was from Bobby?

"John? What's all this mutant crap Dean was askin' about? He hung up on me, too. I assume that was because you walked in. Was he drunk? Call me back, or I'll come after ya with my shotgun."

Delete. Second message.

"John, this is Jim. Normally I would not bother you, but it appears Dean is at the cabin and he sounded, well, odd. Odd as in not quite himself. No, not inebriated, because his speech was not slurred, but giving a bit more voice to his thoughts than usual. I am hoping he has not discovered something stronger than alcohol. Also, it would seem he found my cabin amiss. Are you there as well?"

Jesus, he might as well rent out a freaking neon sign. Delete that one, too. All he needed now was for Sam to call just to tell him what a lousy father he was to round off his morning. Third message.

Bobby's voice growled at him through the phone. Initially he was relieved, since John had been expecting to hear the voice of one of his sons. Then Bobby said the magic word, Wendigo. Holy crap. Dean must've been meeting with some low-life at the cabin to buy more weapons. He hoped it wasn't that faggot Ollie. The way that creep looked at Dean always gave him chills. Dean was with another hunter? What hunters did Dean know that Bobby didn't? John had made damned sure Dean only knew a select, hand-picked group.

Save message. Damn it.

John stared long and hard at the phone in his hand. Behind him a boy slept soundly, knowing without a doubt there was no evil lurking in the night or under beds. Meanwhile, the son he had trained as an evil-hunting soldier was out there doing only God knew what, and that thought made his jaw clench and his stomach twist. A frigging Wendigo? If it were just a ghost or poltergeist, he could blow that off, but a bloodthirsty predator who craved human flesh?

Well, hell, if Adam overheard him calling Dean, too damned bad. This was more important. He was pretty sure he could play the call off to his fictional garage back in Kansas anyway.

John called Dean's number, for the first time in a couple of months. Dean had been the one making all the calls lately, he realized as his gut twisted again. He had expected his son to pick up right away, after just the first ring or two. It rolled to voicemail. Slightly disturbed, John tried again. Again it rolled to voicemail. Sweat collecting on his brow, John attempted to call a third time.

"Yeah, what?" a deep male voice demanded. "Bub, you got any idea what time it is?"

"Where's Dean?" John demanded as panic settled in. "What'd you do with him?"

"Huh? Do with him? Oh, I ain't that kind of guy." Then, in the background, "Hey, kid. Call for you."

"Huh? For me? Duh, dude, it's my freaking phone, of course it's for me." Dean's voice came in loud and clear. At first John felt only relief, which was instantly overshadowed with anger for his son worrying him unnecessarily. "Bobby? Or is this Jim? You know, it doesn't matter. I'm on a hunt and I have to be up in like an hour to check out the local butcher, so let me frigging sleep." The connection died before he could say one word.

John stared at the phone in his hand in utter disbelief, like it had just bitten him. Then a cold chill descended as he realized that if Dean wasn't still at the cabin, then John had no clue where he might be. He should've cut this vacation short right after Dean nearly busted him at the ballgame. It had been a sign. Sam was right; he was a stupid, stubborn son-of-a-bitch.

* * *

Dean slammed his cell phone on the nightstand as his eyes closed and his head dropped back down on the pillows with a soft thump. Logan allowed a smile to play upon his lips, since no one was watching. He hated to admit it, but the kid was growing on him. The way Dean handled himself with those low-lifes, without starting a shooting match, had been impressive. If the kid's father were half the man Dean seemed to think he was, then Logan just might have to watch his step around the elder Winchester.

He returned to his own bed to stare up at the ceiling. Fragments of memories, disjointed images without rhyme or reason, danced in his head. Some memories were longer, more coherent than others. The wars, for example. He could remember every single damned war. But people? Hell, he could've married a couple of dozen women for all he knew. The only people who mattered were in the here and now anyway. That's what the Professor kept telling him. Not to worry about it. But Victor was in his past, way back, if he could only remember it. And if he could remember it, maybe Logan could figure out the bastard's weakness and finally kill him. That was assuming Victor wouldn't come back to haunt him.

Even with his swiss-cheese memory, Logan was certain he had never believed in ghosts or any of the crap Dean claimed to hunt. It was too unreal. He liked solid things, things he could hold in his hand or slice with his claws. Even the Professor had seemed kind of shaken up after taking a stroll through the kid's head. It would take a lot to shake up the Professor like that. He'd have to ask the kid if there was a way to keep somebody from coming back as a ghost. Just to be on the safe side.

Then the faces of those nameless people from his past started to filter through his half-awake mind. Some were frightened, some angry, and some were downright scary, but only a few ever smiled. Maybe the Professor was right and he was better off not knowing. Then a face that felt familiar stood out above all the others. The face solidified, until Logan thought he could reach out an touch it. It was the face of a young soldier, much younger than Dean was now, maybe nineteen or twenty. He wore army green and mud was splattered all over his left side, but the soldier smiled anyway. Logan trusted the smile, and the face. The soldier had those eyes, the kind which have seen too much, but in his gut he knew this kid wouldn't flip out on him at the wrong time. Then he closed his eyes against a fresh flood of memories, bloody battles, corpses piled left and right, and the moans of the wounded and dying.

"Dude. Logan." A gentle voice, like the smile of the soldier, reached out through the gore. "Come on, Logan. Time to wake up."

Logan forced his eyes to open. Dean stood at the foot of his bed, one boot on the comforter bouncing the mattress up and down.

"What?" he demanded. "You don't know how to wake a guy up?"

"A guy with huge claws?" Dean's face broke in a teasing smile as his foot returned to the floor. "Figured I was safer over here."

"You are," Logan admitted. "So who was on the phone earlier?"

Dean gave him a puzzled look. "What?"

Logan motioned to the mess Dean had left the other bed in. "Somebody called you. Who was it?"

Dean shook his head. "Dude, you must've dreamed that. C'mon, we're burnin' daylight."

"Oh, so now you're gonna go John Wayne on me?" Logan asked as he rolled off the bed.

A snorted chuckle and a head shake were the only straight answer he got. "Dude's older'n movies, and he's a John Wayne fan?"

"Hey," Logan said defensively as he followed Dean out the door, "The Quiet Man was a great flick."

"You probably liked the chick in it. About your vintage, right?" Dean asked with a smirk.

Logan patted his pockets, looking for a cigar. "Not gonna let up on the age thing, are ya, kid?"

"Besides, 'burnin' daylight' was from The Cowboys, not The Quiet Man," Dean continued as if he hadn't said a damn word. "So you're obviously a fan. Most old dudes are." Those old eyes set in a young face (and why was the face always so young?) darted to meet Logan's gaze. "And I'll let up on the old dude bit when you quit calling me a kid."

Logan shook his head. "Guess I'll have to get used to it, then." He found most of a cigar in his front shirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth.

"_Doesn't matter. It's not like we'll be seeing each other after today anyway_," Dean mumbled. "_Even if we kill the Wendigo without getting ourselves killed, he'll take off and we'll never see each other again_._ Sooner or later, everybody leaves._"

Maybe, Logan thought to himself. It'd depend on if the kid was worth a damn. Guys who could be relied on when things turned nasty weren't common. Logan preferred keeping in touch with guys like that, even the ones who went by stupid names like Cyclops.


	5. Chapter 5: Battlefield

**Chapter Five: Battlefields**

Dean handed the large bottle of blood wrapped in brown butcher paper through the passenger window.

"Any problems?" Logan asked him.

"Nah." Dean shrugged before walking around the front of the car. "_A little flirting, major bullshit story, paid for half a cow with a scammed credit card. No problem. Good thing I still have my spare card."_

He slid behind the wheel and took a deep breath. "Okay. I guess we're ready. Right?" Dean looked over at Logan, half hoping the guy would come up with one more thing they should do.

"Right." Logan gave him a single nod. He didn't even have the decency to look concerned. Well, if the guy really couldn't die, why would he be worried? Dean was the only member of this hunting party who could die. Yeah, this was just awesome.

As Dean pulled out of the parking lot into the street, Logan unwrapped the butcher paper. "So we hike out there, pour a bunch of cow blood on the ground, make a lot of noise, and roast the bad guy. That the plan?"

"Pretty much," Dean agreed, "but it's pig blood. They were out of cow."

"Butcher shop out of cow blood?" Logan snorted. "What is the world comin' to?"

"They'll have some in two days. I figured we'd better not wait that long." Dean itched to turn on the radio, anything so he wouldn't have to keep voicing all of his thoughts.

"So. You and your father. This is really what you do? All the time?" Logan asked.

"Yup." Dean gave him a nod.

"What about your brother?" Logan asked casually. "The one in college?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess he'd rather study. _Haven't heard from him in over a year_."

"Over a year?" Logan grunted. "What? He ran away from home to go to college?"

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Look, I'd rather not talk about it."

Logan shrugged. "Whatever, kid. Just tryin' to make conversation. So, assumin' ghosts is real, let's say you kill somebody. Is there a way to keep 'im from comin' back? As a ghost?"

Dean glanced over suspiciously. "Don't tell me you're worried, Logan."

The dude with the wild hair snorted loud. "I don't worry, Bub. I'm just, ya know, curious."

"_Riiiight_," Dean muttered. "Cremation. Just make sure there aren't any physical remains."

"Fire, huh?" Logan peered over the backseat at the case containing their flame-throwers. "So you got any use for both of those once we're done here?"

"Just curious?" Dean demanded.

Logan grunted. "Maybe I'm bein' cautious, kid. No law against that."

Dean shook his head as he pulled over to stop beside the road. "Dude, you can have 'em both once that Wendigo is roasted. I don't carry around big-ass weapons like that if I can help it."

"Deal." Logan grinned around his cigar. "I always wanted one of them."

"_Figures_."

* * *

John packed Adam into his mother's car, using a work emergency as his excuse. His mother was alarmed since she knew what he really did. John gave her a swift kiss on the cheek and whispered in her ear to head straight home, he would call later. She nodded seriously before driving off. He had never told her about Dean and Sam either. Today wasn't a good time; the explanation would use too much precious time.

Once he was in the clear, John returned Bobby's calls.

"'lo?" came the gruff answer.

"Bobby? What the hell is going on with Dean?" John demanded.

"So. You do check your messages, huh?" Bobby replied slowly. "Does this mean you didn't know about the Wendigo hunt?"

John couldn't bite back the growl crawling up his throat. "Hell, no. Did you really think I'd let Dean hunt one of those bastards alone?"

"He's not alone," Bobby said in the same snide voice. "Or didn't you listen to the whole message?"

"I heard it," John snapped. "Who is he with?"

"I kind of think it's the other way around," Bobby replied. "Some guy is with Dean. I reckon Dean's already helped the guy out, and now it's being reciprocated."

"So he's with an incompetent hunter?" John snorted. "Well that's just freaking perfect. I don't suppose you know where he is?"

"Oh, you mean you care?" Bobby said sarcastically.

John tried a deep breath as he ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, he knew he wasn't the greatest father in the world. Bobby just had to keep pointing that out, didn't he?

"You know I care," John replied slowly. "So where is my son?"

"He said Westchester County, some small town. Didn't say which one. I told 'em to watch his back, there're a lot of strange rumors about that county." Bobby sighed. "I tried to convince him to let me come help out, but he turned me down."

"Terrific," John growled as all the muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened. "Well, there couldn't be too many with a death that matches a Wendigo. You do some research on your end and I'll head for Westchester County. Call me when you got something."

"Sure thing, boss," Bobby snarled. "Want some coffee with that?"

John rolled his eyes as he snapped his phone closed and stuffed it in his pocket. Bobby was on a roll today. He jumped in his truck and hit the key. It roared to life. After checking the gas gauge, he still had over half a tank, John shoved it into drive. He pointed it towards the county he had been hearing so much about lately, hoping for once that Dean was way the hell off base.

* * *

Dean shut off his phone before holding it up. "You do know how to use one of these, right?" He waited while Logan gave him a hard look followed by a nod. "Good. My dad's number is in there. If anything goes wrong, call him for me."

"Sure, kid," Logan replied slowly. "No problem."

Dean gave him a serious nod before tossing it on the back seat. Logan was starting to suspect Dean was the kind of guy you could count on. He held on to the bottle of blood, figuring Dean might try using himself as bait after all. Dean opened the trunk. Curious, Logan followed to peer into a weapons locker held open by a sawed-off shotgun. He let out a low whistle at the collection Dean had in the locker.

"Jesus, kid," Logan said before he could stop himself. "You weren't kiddin' about bein' a hunter, were ya?"

Dean didn't bother to respond as he loaded up. The knives were first, one in each boot and one strapped to his left forearm. A side holster went on next, followed by a gun in his back waistband.

"You know," he said slowly. "I've seen soldiers in a war zone with fewer weapons."

Dean grunted and shook his head. "Not my fault." He hesitated before tossing the sawed-off into the locker and slamming the trunk closed.

"Not takin' the shotgun?" Logan asked, following Dean around the car to retrieve the flame-thowers from the back seat.

"It shoots rocksalt," Dean replied with a shrug as he handed over one. "I don't think it'll do us any good." He eyed the bottle of blood.

"Forget it, kid," Logan said. "I'm the bait, remember?" He held it up in one hand and grinned. "I'm kinda lookin' forward to a good look at this thing."

Dean stared him right in the eyes, a long evaluating stare. "Let's get started," he finally said.

It was a full twenty minutes or so of hiking before Logan realized Dean hadn't voiced whatever he had been thinking during that stare.

"Kid? What were you thinkin' back there by the car?" Logan asked, stepping around a small bush in his way.

Dean shrugged, but Logan had noticed the kid was on full alert, constantly scanning the area around them. "Nothin'."

Logan frowned. "That seemed like an awful lot of nothin'."

Dean gazed around again. "I just don't think I ever heard of anyone wanting to meet a Wendigo before, that's all. Caught me by surprise."

"Ah." Logan shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Not the kind of critter most folks want ta tangle with, huh?"

"Not really," Dean replied. The kid's movements slowed, quiet and cautious, as they neared the area where the body had been found. Well, what had been left of a body. Poor kid. The whole reason the Professor had sent him here in the first place was because of the mutant kids who never seemed to make it past this town. This one had made three. At least now he knew it was Victor trying to get his attention. Bastard. Killin' kids, mutant kids, just to draw him out. Well, this was the first body, he could only assume Victor had killed the other two as well. He was going to have to deal with the bastard, one way or another.

Logan shifted the flame-thrower hanging over his back. And he was gonna make damn sure the bastard wouldn't be comin' back.

Dean stared at the bottle of blood for a long moment before motioning for him to pour it out. With a shrug, Logan opened it. He poured the blood over the ground, ear tuned for the slightest sound. The next half hour felt like days as they waited for the so-called perfect predator to show.

A sickly sweet odor tinged with decay, like fresh blood near an old corpse, reached Logan's sensitive nose. He hissed at Dean. Dean replied with a slow nod from behind a tree, flame-thrower at the ready.

The first time it ran by, leaving deep gouges in his right arm, Logan couldn't see it. Furious, his claws extended out of reflex and he slashed the air. He saw Dean shaking his head and holding up the flame-thrower. Yeah, yeah. He'd get around to fire in a minute. First he wanted to hurt this thing. Bad.

All the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight out and he smelled that nasty scent again. Logan again slashed at the air, this time his claws catching on something which howled. Grinning in triumphant, he swung his arms again. No noise this time. He was pretty sure it would be comin' back, though. After all, the damn thing hadn't eaten yet.

"Get ready, kid," he growled in Dean's direction as he braced himself for full impact.

"C'mon ya lazy bum!" Logan shouted in the general direction it had disappeared in. "Or doncha think you can score some real meat?"

This time he heard it coming, running on two legs through the woods. Huh. Maybe the kid was right about it having been human once-upon-a-time.

"That's it," he muttered to himself. "I'm right here." Claws still extended, Logan appeared as if he were going head-to-head with it. At the last second, he hit the ground with a shout, "Now, kid!"

The sound of flames roaring was the only thing he could hear. Then a shrieking scream filled the air. Logan opened his eyes in time to see something that resembled a human, vaguely, burst into flames. Once it had gone up in a burst of fire leaving only dark ash behind, Dean held out a hand. Logan accepted it and let the kid pull him to his feet.

"You make good bait," he said with a grin.

Logan returned the grin. "Kid, I ain't never seen anything like that. You really do this for a living?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, how many times are you gonna ask me that?"

Again all the hairs on the back of Logan's neck stood out and that nasty odor returned. "Uh, kid? Do those things ever travel in packs?"

"Packs?" Dean's face reflected his bewilderment. "What do you mean, packs?"

Logan felt a sharp pain to the back of his head as the world faded to black.

* * *

Dean watched in horror as Logan crumpled to the ground. Before he could raise his flame-thrower, it was knocked from his hand. Trying to go for his knife, his legs were knocked out from under him, his ass landing hard on the ground. Winded, Dean reached for one of his handguns but his arms were pinned to his sides. In the blink of an eye, he went from standing safe and secure to tied up. In the next blink, Dean found himself in an underground cave.

When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see white objects, bones, scattered around him. He must be in the Wendigo's lair. Great. Just freaking perfect. Yeah, he really should've called Dad.


	6. Chapter 6: Soldiers In Arms

**Chapter Six: Soldiers-In-Arms**

When John had introduced himself to the local sheriff as a federal marshal, the man had asked "Really? Another one?" John had nearly laughed in relief. This had to be the right town. He insisted on the sheriff giving him a map depicting where the body had been found, refusing to allow the local law to accompany him.

John typically preferred to pose as a reporter, it had been Dean who always wanted to impersonate law enforcement. He might have continued to refuse, except Dean's ID's usually worked. A good idea was a good idea. Now where the hell was his son?

The place to start appeared obvious, at the sight of the killing. From there, maybe John could pick up a trail.

* * *

Logan came to in a dark cave. He hung by his arms, which were tied above his head and out to either side. After trying to work himself loose using his adamantium claws but unable to catch them on the rope, Logan felt he ought to admit defeat. Defeat really wasn't his style, however. He grunted in frustration as he tried again.

"Logan?" A strong voice called out in the darkness.

Logan squinted in the direction it came from. "Kid? Is that you?"

"I'm not a kid," came the response.

Logan sighed and shook his head. "Got any ideas? I'm kind of tied up here."

"Same here," Dean replied. "I don't suppose you can use your freaky claws to cut your way out?"

"Been tryin'," Logan admitted, "but I'm strung up like a Christmas goose. Havin' trouble reaching the ropes."

"I think it missed one of my knives. Gimme a minute."

Logan tried to wait patiently, but he kept thinking about when Dean rambled on about how he could be a never-ending dinner. Goose-bumps raised all over his flesh. Surely Professor X would send the rest of the team lookin' for him when he didn't show up in a coupla days. Surely. Of course, Dean would be long dead by then.

"Hurry up, kid," Logan warned. "There's no tellin' when it's comin' back."

There was a grunt from the far side of the cave. Clearly this thing wasn't takin' any chances by puttin' them closer together.

"Just...tell me...when...it's...coming." Dean sounded out of breath. Logan hoped that was a good sign. He sniffed the air, but all he could smell was old blood and decaying flesh. Nasty. He would bet even money this damn thing liked scaring the crap out of its victims too.

"Not sure I can smell it in here," Logan had to admit.

He heard Dean muttering, but couldn't make out all the words. It didn't sound exactly complimentary, though. Maybe he could pull his arm out of the ropes? Hell, it was worth a shot. Better to have to heal up all the skin and muscle in his forearms than watch, or listen to, the kid being eaten alive. Logan pulled against his ropes until they turned slick with his blood, but there was still no give in them. Cripes, these things were thorough. How could something that lived out in the woods just eating people be so damned smart?

A loud thump sounded through the cave. "Dean!"

"Damn," Dean mumbled. "Lost my knife."

Logan rolled his eyes in the dark as he tugged harder at his bonds. "Kid, are ya all right?" he demanded.

"Yeah, just a couple of bruises, but I can't find my knife."

"Forget it," Logan snapped. "You got two more."

"It's my favorite," Dean argued back in the dark.

Now Logan growled. Loud. "Cut me loose and I'll help ya look for it!"

"Hang on," Dean replied. "I'm just on the ground, I'm not loose yet."

His ropes grew slicker and there was a little give, but not enough. Logan twisted his arms back and forth, desperate to work his way free.

"All right, I think I can cut you loose now. Keep talking so I can find you," Dean instructed.

"Never met such a pain in the ass in all my life," Logan complained. "Kid, you really take the cake."

"Don't stop," Dean snapped, his voice closer.

"Right over here," Logan continued. "Probably right in front of your damn nose." It was downright embarrassing to be saved by a normal. This was one story he would not be telling when he made it back to the institute. Of course, the Professor would just know, but he wouldn't tell. He never did.

Logan felt a solid object run into him. "Logan?" Dean sounded all right.

"Yeah, it's me," he replied. "You gonna turn me loose or what?"

"How are you tied up?" Dean asked.

"Arms are up and out to the side," Logan explained. "I can't reach the ropes with my claws."

"Huh. I wondered how it did it," Dean said in a soft voice. Rough rope moved across his chest and Logan realized that Dean's hands were still bound. The feel of the rope shifted to his shoulder and then arm, all the way up to his wrists. "Uh. Why does the rope feel wet?"

"Never mind," Logan snapped. "Just cut me loose, and don't worry about hurtin' me. Won't matter."

"Yeah, okay."

He could feel Dean sawing away at the rope.

"Find your knife?" Logan asked as Dean worked.

"Used the other one," Dean replied. "I'll have to find that one later."

Logan scented the air again. Something had changed. He could barely make out the nasty smell of the Wendigo over the rotting flesh in the cave. "Hurry," he whispered. "It's here."

"Crap," Dean breathed out as more force was applied to the ropes on his right arm. He started to feel some give. Logan pulled hard against it as Dean continued to work vigorously. Snapping sounds accompanied the rope breaking.

"Almo-umph!"

"Kid?" Logan asked, panic settling in. He yanked hard against his bonds, the rope finally breaking. Something, probably the Wendigo, slashed through his right side, but Logan ignored it. His claws extended as he gave a final wrenching pull on the rope, his arm coming free. Logan whipped his claws in front of his left arm, both arms free now. He slashed downward, hoping not to hit Dean while breaking the ropes holding his legs.

Finally! Listening intently for the Wendigo, Logan felt around with his foot until it connected with a lump that had better be the kid. He moved to stand protectively over the fallen body while the damn thing kept comin' at him, cutting into his arms, sides and legs. No matter how deep he managed to stab into it, it kept comin' back for more. Damn!

Wait. Flame-throwers. Fire.

What the hell happened to the damned flame-throwers? Logan squinted in the dank, dark cave trying to spot a glint off the metal weapons. Before he could really make the effort, however, the thing came at him again, this time slicing through his face.

"Startin' to piss me off," he growled, readying himself for the next attack.

* * *

Dean spit out the dirt in his mouth as pain lanced through his side. Something, probably a rib, had snapped when the Wendigo broadsided him. The sounds of a nasty fight came from just inches above his head. It made Dean think of a sword fight happening right above him, only it was long nasty claws instead of swords. This would make a great horror flick, he thought as he placed the knife between his teeth to saw through the ropes binding his hands as he ignored the pain. Mainly by accident, Dean managed to cut through the portion next to the knot, causing it to fall from his wrists and forearms.

Freed, Dean commando crawled from between Logan's legs out from under the furious fighting. Logan had been wearing the other flame-thrower, so odds were that it was down here someplace. Now if he could just find it in the dark. He couldn't have packed a mini-flashlight too, could he? Oh, no. Just had to have knives and guns, but nothing to see by. Then again, being captured hadn't really figured into the plan. Dean felt around blindly, his hands hitting bones and squishy stuff he'd rather not think about. Fortunately Logan was keeping the Wendigo too busy to notice him crawling around on the ground like some damn bug. After what felt like an eternity, and it was becoming difficult to breathe in here, his fingertips touched solid metal. Eagerly, he ran his hands over the long smooth surface.

"Yahtzee!" Dean grasped it eagerly. He pointed it away from the fight as he tried to light it. With a hiss and roar of flame, it burst to life. Finally!

Still on the ground, Dean spun around into a sitting position, the pain of moving so fast momentarily blinding him. He held his breath and blinked a few times to clear his vision. Now he could see the freaking thing. Logan was all cut up, face, arms and legs. They'd both need some medical attention after this. Dean pointed the flame at it. This was his first up-close sighting. It was almost human. Almost. Human only in walking upright on two legs. It snarled and growled, teeth sharp and menacing in the firelight. Dean pumped up the flame, aiming at it. With a final growl, Logan sunk both sets of metal claws into the fugly and shoved it right in the fire. It screamed in pain as its body lit up from the inside out, before bursting apart in tiny charred pieces.

Dean gasped for breath as he turned the flame down, the pain intensifying when he moved wrong.

"That's it, right?" Logan demanded. "It ain't comin' back?"

Dean shook his head, but he still couldn't catch his breath. What the hell?

"Kid? Dean!"

And why did Logan look worried? That dude never looked worried. And since when did Logan call him Dean?

* * *

Claws retracting, Logan rushed to Dean's side as the light from the flame-thrower went out. The kid must not have realized it yet, but Logan had see bone poking through his shirt and the scent of fresh blood was strong in the air. Had to be a busted rib, might even have punctured a lung. Yeah, this day just kept gettin' better, didn't it? He could hear the kid gasping for breath. Punctured lung. Perfect.

Logan swept his arms out, picking up the kid before he could even think about registering a protest. They were in the middle of no-where. Unless he could rush this kid to a hospital, quick, Dean was a goner. He'd been in enough battles to recognize the signs.

"Easy, kid," he said in a rough voice as Dean squirmed in his grasp. "The more you struggle the more it's gonna hurt. Just rest easy. I got it."

Dean's head shook back and forth, short hair brushing his neck as they approached the exit of this underground hovel.

"Okay, how about this. Take it easy, or I'm gonna knock you out and carry ya anyway," he suggested with his best menacing growl. That seemed to work better. Well, the kid stopped trying to fight him at any rate.

Logan wished Professor X's telepathy stuff worked both ways, so he could put in a call for help. But they were on their own and the kid was startin' to give off a fear-scent. The whole time they were facing down the bad guy, Dean hadn't given off a fear-scent, but the smell was strong now.

"Breathe shallow," he advised Dean as they hit daylight. Kid looked much worse in the light, face pasty white. Logan doubted Dean could make it all the way back to the car much less the trip to a hospital, but it wasn't like they had much of a choice, either. What about the kid's phone? Oh, right. Back in the car. Great.

"Ya know," Logan began slowly as he headed along a different direction, trusting his instincts to guide them back faster than the path they had come in using, "I knew a soldier a lot like you once. Long time ago. Same eyes." His foot slipped on a rock and Dean gasped when he shifted in Logan's arms. "I don't care for eyes like yours," Logan continued as if he had never slipped. "Most guys with that look are crazy, ya know? Can't trust 'em. Fold at the wrong time, or turn into cold-blooded killers. They'll stab ya with the same amount of thought as askin' for the salt."

The kid was starting to feel heavy, but Logan could tell that his wounds were nearly healed now. Soon Dean would feel lighter as his muscles were repaired.

"But there are a few guys with those eyes who'll stick to ya, no matter what happens. You coulda left me there and saved your own ass, but you didn't." He nodded solemnly while avoiding looking at the kid's face. Those faces were always so damned young. "I owe ya, kid. And I'm the kinda guy who makes good on his debts. But let me tell ya about that other guy. Now he was a piece of work!"

He launched into a lengthy story about a battlefield long ago. When they reached the car, there was a black truck parked next to it. Ignoring the other vehicle, Logan packed his friend into the back seat, still talking about soldiers-in-arms. At the hospital, his story wasn't quite finished.

"Tell ya what, kid." Logan parked just outside the emergency entrance. "I'll tell ya the rest later, all right? After you got a room."

"Box," Dean croaked, motioning to the glove compartment.

Logan dutifully opened it, watching a curious orderly approach the passenger door. He shuffled through a whole lot of illegal driver's licenses and law enforcement IDs before finding about a half dozen insurance cards.

"Does it matter which one?" he asked as he motioned for the orderly to come closer.

Dean's head shook again. He really looked like shit now, gasping like a fish outta water and his face ghostly white. Logan could see now that the kid had some freckles splashed across his nose, but even those were turning pale. Logan chose an insurance card as the orderly poked his head in the window.

"You're blocking the entrance, mister," the man said.

"Got an injured man back there," Logan snapped. "Tangled with a bear, barely made it out of the woods. You gonna go get a gurney or what?"

The orderly snapped to respond, slamming his head on the inside roof of the car. Logan shook his head sadly as the man pulled out of the car, rubbing his head. "Hey! Little help!"

Logan hung around long enough to hand over the obviously bogus insurance card and see that Dean was receiving medical attention. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he slipped out after being told Dean would need surgery. It was a sure bet the kid would be here for a few days. He paused by the kid's car, tempted to just keep on walking. But he had made a promise and Logan liked to keep those. So he searched the back until he found the kid's cell phone.

"Stupid things probably cause brain cancer or somethin'," he groused as he turned it on. Logan sat on the hood of the car as he tried to understand the stored numbers. It took him at least half an hour, but he found an entry marked 'Dad'. Now how did you call it? With Dad selected, he tried pushing the button with picture of a green phone. Green meant 'go'. It dialed. With a breath of relief, Logan lifted it to his ear.

"Dean! Damn it, where the hell are you? What were you thinking, trying to go after a god-damned Wendigo alone? Why the hell didn't you call me? Dean?"

The kid _wanted_ him to call this asshole?

"Listen, Bub. I ain't Dean. Assuming you're really his father, and ya sound more like a drill sergeant, I'm s'posed to tell ya he's in the hospital in Riverford. And by the way," Logan continued before the man on the other end could respond, "it was two of those damned Wendigos and Dean got both of 'em. Ya might know more about it if you bothered to listen to your kid instead of orderin' him around."

Logan pulled the phone away from his ear as the man sputtered angry demands about who he was and what he thought he was doing. The button with the picture of a red phone took care of that. His last comment had been a shot in the dark, but it sounded like he had hit the mark dead-center. Satisfied, Logan turned to toss the phone back in Dean's car, but he hesitated. Now how could he get in touch with the kid without his number? He spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to make the phone show him its number. Then a woman came by, pretty cute, who offered to help him. She actually bought his excuse about forgetting his own number because he never called himself. Obviously he was technologically incompetent anyway, so she took pity on him. Logan scrawled the number out on a scrap of paper he found in the glove compartment. He tucked it safely away in his wallet.

Maybe he would drop back by the hospital later to check on the kid and see if the father actually showed up. In the meantime, he was hungry. And he really ought to look for Victor.

* * *

Furious, John shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket. He stalked the forty-five minute trek to his car. He had found plenty of blood, fresh blood, near the location where the shredded body had been found. It looked like the kind of trap Dean would set. Teeth grinding tight enough to make his jaw ache, John stomped up to his truck. Dean's car had been here when he arrived. That meant he had completely missed his son and this mysterious hunter. Now how the hell had he done that?

Sloppy. He was getting too damned sloppy. Hanging out with Adam, not worrying constantly about the job, made him lower his guard. When he should've been thinking about Dean, about the trouble his son was in, he had been reliving the past few days and how much fun he had had with Adam.

Damn it. No matter what he did, he was freaking cursed! Dean was the only one who clung to hunting like a frigging lifeline. It had driven Sam away, and Adam's mother had threatened to disappear with his youngest son if he so much as mentioned it. She didn't want to scare Adam. After the horrible mistakes he had made with Sam, John had instantly agreed. So now what was he doing? Making huge mistakes with Dean?

Dean. In the hospital. John pressed hard on the accelerator, truck tires squealing their displeasure as he raced back to town. Taking up several parking spaces because he couldn't be bothered to park between the lines, John leaped from his truck. He crossed the parking lot at a dead run. How bad was it? Well, bad enough to need a hospital, obviously. At least if he needed a hospital, it meant Dean was still alive. Not wanting to think the worst, John skidded to a halt at the emergency room admissions desk.

"A young man was brought in? Maybe an hour ago?" he demanded.

"Name?" the woman asked calmly, looking up at him expectantly.

Oh, crap. Name? Now how the hell was he supposed to know?


	7. Chapter 7: The Kid

**Chapter Seven: The Kid**

Warm soft clouds wrapped comfortingly around him, holding him safe. Dean slowly opened his eyes. Lots of pretty colors vibrated in the light streaming through the window. He watched the colors shift and change as they spread through the otherwise white room.

"Hey, Bud," a deep male voice intoned. "Are you awake?"

"Logan?" His tongue was heavy and thick in his mouth and there was some kind of mask on his face. Dean turned his head, expecting to see wild black hair and a dude chewing on an old cigar. Instead Dad sat on the other side of a raised hospital bed rail looking kind of stressed. He was surrounded by a halo of colors, which made Dean grin. "Dad?"

Dad frowned at him. "Who is Logan? Is that the guy who let this happen to you?"

Dean grinned wider. "Relax, Dad. It's my fault." His grin dropped as he sighed. "I never thought there'd be two of 'em." His words caused the color streaks in the air to change, a rainbow of fun. Like Lucky Charms. "Dad? Do we have any cereal?"

"Cereal?" Dad rubbed a hand down his face. "Good drugs, son?"

Dean felt like laughing. "Yeah. It's awesome. Kind of reminds me of this guy Mike and his bong."

"Bong?" Dad shook his head as he grasped one of Dean's shoulders. "Okay, dude. That'll wait until you're off the drugs. You took a bad hit in the ribs, sent one right through a lung. You're lucky it didn't fully collapse."

"It felt like it," Dean replied honestly. "Hurt like hell." He yawned widely. Sleep was so damned tempting, but Dad looked like he wanted some answers. "Didya ask somethin', Dad?"

"It'll wait," Dad said softly. "Go back to sleep, Dean. I'll be here when you wake up."

Dean tried to nod, but he wasn't sure if it really happened or if he dreamed it.

* * *

The hospital staff told him some cop was in the kid's hospital room. Logan hoped the kid wasn't in too much trouble. Actually, if it was about the bogus insurance, maybe The Professor could help out.

He found a payphone in a local bar. Kind of rough lookin' place, not the kind of people who asked a lot of questions. Logan called the institute collect. After being passed through about four people, Storm finally picked up.

"Logan?" she demanded in her strong voice. "What is it? Is there more trouble?"

"Nah," he replied. "The kid and I took care of it, but the kid was hurt. It's pretty bad, I wasn't sure he'd make it to the hospital. I don't think he has any real insurance, so I was kind of wondering if Professor X would mind doin' a little favor."

"He's teaching a class right now, but I'm certain the professor will be happy to. What is the name of the hospital?"

Logan relayed the information, hinting that maybe a better doctor might be in order too. As usual, Storm took it all in stride. She was somethin' else.

* * *

Dean drifted in and out of consciousness most of the first day, while John watched feeling useless. Why hadn't he been at Dean's side? If he had been there, none of this would've happened.

Then a new doctor, one with a real sense of self-importance, strode into Dean's room.

"Winchester?" he asked in a brusque manner.

John found himself nodding before his brain engaged. "Uh, no. It's Junereaux."

The doctor glared at him over a clipboard. "I have Dean Winchester down here. Sir, I've come a long way to treat this patient and I was told he is in this room. Is this Winchester or not?"

Now this was getting pretty strange. "Uh...yeah," he said slowly. "Dean is my son. Who sent you?"

"The Xavier Institute," he said in a businesslike manner. "Punctured lung? Yes, I think that will be a relatively minor procedure. We'll have your son up and about within a few hours, Mister Winchester."

John blinked uncomprehending at the white coated doctor. "A few hours? Is that possible?"

"Certainly, with this new procedure," the doctor explained. "But I'll have to ask you to step out of the room for at least twenty minutes."

Not feeling quite right about it, John headed out of the room. Dean was still fast asleep. Once again guilt welled up, but John tried to ignore it as he headed outside for a few minutes to place a quick call to Adam's mother. He simply said one of his colleagues had been hospitalized; she seemed to understand why he had to leave. Then John went in search of a fresh cup of coffee. With one eye on his watch, he downed four cups of lousy hospital coffee while he waited the remainder of the required twenty minutes before heading back for Dean's room. The new doctor stepped through the door as John approached.

"Mister Winchester," the doctor said with a tired nod of his head. "Dean will be fine now. I've ordered for him to be taken off all pain medications, since he shouldn't be needing them. If there are any complications, please call me immediately." He handed over an odd looking card with just a phone number and the name of a clinic on it. "I'll go arrange for his release forms now, they should be processed within a couple of hours."

"This doesn't have your name," John complained, his mind in a whirl. What kind of new procedure for punctured lungs could have a patient released this quickly?

The man smiled at him. "I'm the only doctor there, they'll know. Please make certain Dean knows this was a courtesy of the Xavier Institute. I understand he was working for the professor when he was injured. We take care of our own." He gave John a brisk nod before pushing past to leave.

More confused now than he had been when the new doctor arrived, John shoved open the door to Dean's room. His son was sleeping, but his color was better. Encouraged, he sat by Dean's bed again and sipped at his coffee. There were no longer any IV's set up and only basic monitoring equipment being used to track his heartrate and bloodpressure.

An hour later Dean's eyelids fluttered before opening wide. "Dad?" he asked in a breathless voice.

"Yeah, it's me," John replied firmly, wanting Dean's mind at ease.

"Man, I had the weirdest dream." Dean pushed off the bed up to a sit and looked around with a frown. "At least, I think it was a dream."

"How're you feeling, son?" John asked anxiously.

Dean felt his chest and sides before giving him a shrug. "Fine. A little sore from where the Wendigo threw me around, but fine. Where're my clothes?"

John narrowed his gaze. "Yeah, I'd like to talk about this hunt. And the Xavier Institute, and why they sent a doctor to take care of you."

Dean's mouth opened but nothing came out. He tried again, still nothing. Finally Dean shook his head. "Not sure I can, Dad. Where are my clothes?"

John helped Dean up and dress. By the time Dean was pulling on his boots, a nurse appeared with his release papers and a nasty frown. Dean didn't even look twice at her as he hastily signed the pages. Well, that was quick. John would have to make certain he kept track of that doctor's card.

"Let's go," his son insisted. John followed as Dean practically ran from the hospital. His son never had cared for hospitals or clinics. Nurses were a different matter, of course. Well, usually they were.

Dean checked over the Impala carefully before giving John a nod and sliding behind the wheel. John took it as clearance to leave. He headed over to his truck. When he checked on his son, Dean was still in the parking space. John figured Dean meant to follow him. Good. They could go where he would get some damn answers. John hit the key, the powerful motor coming to life with a shake and a mechanical roar. He pulled out to wait for Dean at the exit. Within moments the large black car was behind him. John headed for the highway and pointed his truck towards Bobby's.

* * *

Dad kept going on about a punctured and collapsed lung, but honestly Dean couldn't remember anything after he and Logan took out the Wendigo. He had tried to tell Dad about it, but each time he couldn't. It was like there was something blocking him. Maybe the info on Logan wasn't the only thing the professor left behind in his head.

Then Dad left him there to recuperate, even though he felt fine. Dean had been ready to argue, but Bobby waved him off. So he waited until Dad's truck was out of sight.

"What?" he demanded of Bobby. "I feel fine."

Bobby glared at him like he was the dumbest person on the face of the planet. "And when was the last time you had a vacation?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but he really didn't have a good response for that. Never?

"Besides, that car of yours could use a tune-up," Bobby pointed out.

"I don't suppose you're up for a movie marathon too?" Dean asked tentatively.

Bobby's grizzled face broke in a broad smile. "Now that depends. You got anything good in mind?"

Dean returned the grin. "Always," he promised as he shucked his jacket, tossing it in the back seat. "So are you going for beer, or do I have to do everything?"

Bobby chuckled as he turned around and headed back for the house. "Pain in my ass."

Dean popped the hood, wondering if Bobby might have a fresh set of plugs he could have. His baby was going to get a full tune-up and he would be taking his time for a change.

* * *

Logan stared at the slip of paper in his hand a long time while he sat on his bunk at the Institute. A silver knife, the one Dean had carried on his forearm, reflected the fluorescent light overhead. Victor had disappeared. Again. Things were pretty quiet for a change, and he was thinking about hopping on his motorcycle and taking a trip. He had a knife to return.

One hand reached for the phone as he set the paper beside it to dial. It rang a few times before a now familiar voice picked up. "Yeah?"

"Kid?" Logan asked, glad to hear the smart-ass sounded good. The last time they had spoken Dean had been wheezing and unable to form a sentence.

"Logan? Dude, where are you? You totally disappeared on us. Dad wants to meet you."

Logan rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Is he with you?"

"Nah. Dad took off for a few days, I'm staying with a friend."

He grinned at the memory of Dean flirting with the waitress. "A good-lookin' friend?"

A rousing chuckle sounded through the phone. "Not your type. Trust me. So what's up? Just calling to check up on me?"

"Kind of," Logan admitted. "I was thinkin' about takin' a coupla days off. It's pretty quiet right now. Thought if you're going to be around, I'd stop in and return this so-called favorite knife. Bub, you won't believe what I had to go through to find the damn thing."

Dean's laugh was loud and natural. "Dude, you called at the right time. We're watching a shitload of classic movies and drinkin' beer. Are you anywhere close to South Dakota?"

Logan quickly stuffed Dean's number back in his wallet. "Yeah. Not too far. Why? Got more beer than you can handle?"

Dean laughed at him again. "I might. Logan, you're gonna love Bobby's place. Just, uh, don't strut your stuff while you're here, all right? Bobby's an old dude, you might freak him out."

Logan shook his head, grabbing his jacket off the bed to shrug into it. "Yeah, yeah. Just gimme the directions, you punk."

"If you weren't such an old fart, I'll tell you to look 'em up yourself. But that might require using a computer."

"Hey, don't you think I know people who can use a computer?" Logan demanded, to which Dean chuckled.

"Honestly?" Dean asked him.

Logan growled as he opened his desk drawer where a few lonely office supplies awaited use. He snagged a notebook and a pen. "Address? Or are ya gonna make me hunt your ass down? I can probably smell the cheap beer from here."

"Singer's Salvage," Dean replied. "Cheap? Dude, I've seen the way you dress. Oh, and you damn well better show up ready to work. I'm giving my car a full tune-up and you're helping."

"I'm a great supervisor," Logan replied with a grin. "And I know how to keep the beer cold."

Dean snorted at him before relaying the exact address. "Want directions with that? You'll need to tell me where you're comin' from."

"Nah," Logan replied. "I been in that town before, I'm sure I can find it. See ya before dark, kid."

"I'll keep the beer cold, fuzzy."

Logan hung up without a reply, shaking his head. Dean had damn well better have the beer ready. Logan gave the silver knife a quick flip in the air before depositing it in his pocket. A lot of beer. Cold. That kid was a real piece of work.


	8. Chapter 8: Connections

You folks talk and I listen. I had intended for chapter 7 to end this fic, but there were so many wonderful suggestions on ways for it to continue, it really fired up my imagination. From this point on everything goes completely AU, both in SN and X-Men/Wolverine. You've been warned.

**Chapter 8: Connections**

Logan scratched his forehead before leaning into the engine compartment. "So tell me about this Bobby guy."

Dean shrugged and grinned. "What's in it for me?"

Logan sighed. "I think I liked you better when you had to talk all the damn time."

A head shake accompanied the deep chuckle. "Dude, you have no idea how annoying that was." Deep hazel green eyes sparkled from within a face coated with layers of oil and grease. "Come on, admit it, you like Bobby."

Logan shrugged. "Well, he seems all right. But he keeps starin' at me, ya know? Kind of giving me the creeps."

Dean shot him a hard look. "Dude, Bobby's cool. He just doesn't know you yet. Give him some time." One hand waved him off.

"Well, I was just wondering if..." Logan paused, unsure how Dean would take his question. Dean paused in his work, giving him an inquiring look. "See, there are some people who have it in for mutants. If your friend in there is one of them..."

Dean's eyes rolled again. "Dude, he doesn't even believe in mutants. Bobby thinks Westchester County might be a hotbed of supernatural activity. He's been putting together case files."

"Great," Logan grunted. "That's all we need, hunters who think we're ghosts or somethin'." He chewed thoughtfully on the cigar clamped in his teeth. "I don't s'pose you can spread some rumors? Sayin' we're harmless?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Again. One of these days the damn things ought to fall out, the way the kid kept abusin' 'em. "Dude, I can't talk about mutants, for or against. Thank your professor friend for that."

"Really? Huh." Logan nodded to himself. "Well, I'm sure the professor had his reasons."

* * *

John compared the name on the business card with the clinic across the road from his truck. They matched. The phone number matched, too. The only problem was this particular clinic had been out of business for nearly five years.

Cell phone in hand, John called the number on the card. It rang twice before a female voice answered. "Clinic."

Short and sweet. Interesting. "Yeah, my name is Winchester," John began. "I was told I could call this number if there were any complications."

"One moment, please. Let me see if the doctor can take your call." John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he tried to wait patiently.

A male voice came on the line. "Is this Dean Winchester?" he demanded.

John considered lying, but he had met the doctor before. "This is his father. Am I speaking with the doctor who performed the new procedure on my son?"

There was a pause before the man replied, "Yes. Have there been complications?" The doctor sounded suspicious, but any nugget of information could be invaluable.

"No," John admitted. "But you told me to tell my son that your visit was a courtesy of the Xavier Institute."

"That's right," the doctor replied quickly. "Dean was in Professor Xavier's employ at the time of his injury."

"What kind of Institute is that?" John asked. He doubted he would be able to toss out many questions before the man hung up on him.

"An Institute of Higher Learning," the doctor told him slowly. "And according to my tests, Dean might qualify."

"What tests?" John demanded. "Dean didn't mention taking any tests."

There was a disconcerting chuckle over the phone line before it went dead. Damn it. John opened the door to exit his truck and check the place out. It was every bit the broken down, empty building it appeared to be. He couldn't break in, not without prying boards off the doors or windows, which wouldn't be a great idea in broad daylight. Instead John headed for the nearest library to do a little research on this Xavier Institute.

* * *

"It's geometry," Dean explained patiently. "Equal and opposite angles. Of course, there's a lot of physics too, elastic collisions and kinetic energy." He motioned to the colored balls scattered on the pool table. "Is any of this making any sense?"

Logan eyed the table skeptically. "This is really how you pick up spendin' money?"

Dean grinned and shrugged. "Sure. Why not? It's easy and fun."

Logan locked gazes with him. "I been talkin' to The Professor about you."

Dean rolled his eyes. Typical Logan. "Now what? You want to talk business or play pool?"

"Both," Logan insisted. "Well, I'll watch you play, anyway."

Dean shrugged as he lined up a shot. It rocketed off the far side before plunging into one of the holes.

"You knew it would do that, right?" Logan asked, his stupid unlit cigar bobbing up and down when he spoke.

Dean chuckled a little. "Duh. So what's so important we couldn't talk about it at Bobby's?" He lined up a tricky shot, one where the cue ball ought to just hover on the lip of the pocket. He sent the balls scattering over the table, also setting up his next shot.

"The white ball going in is bad, right?" Logan asked, motioning with his beer mug. Dean nodded as he moved around the table. "Then you lucked out with that one."

Dean flashed him a grin and Logan's eyes widened. "No way," he protested.

"Believe what you want, dude," Dean said with a shrug as he sighted the next shot.

Logan grumbled under his breath. His beer clattered on the edge of the pool table when he set it down. "Okay, here it is. The Professor wants you to be an instructor."

Dean snapped the pool cue forward, sending the cue ball with the perfect amount of spin sailing across the green felt. He watched it careen off a solid colored ball, knocking it straight into the pocket. Damn. He screwed up. It wasn't supposed to be that pretty. He shot Logan a nasty look for throwing off his concentration.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, resting the cue on the floor so he could lean on it.

"The Xavier Institute," Logan explained. "It's a school. Professor X wants you to teach there."

He felt both of his eyebrows dart straight up, maybe even achieving escape velocity off of his face, he was so shocked. "Teach what? Pool hustling?"

"Maybe," Logan replied seriously. "He called it Urban Camouflage. You're real good at blending in, or coming off official, those IDs in your glove box..." He let out a low whistle. "Real nice. Might need you to make me a couple."

Dean's narrowed his eyes at Logan. "What kind of freaking school would want anybody to teach crap like that?"

Logan rounded the table to stand right next to him. "The kind of school that teaches people like me," he said in a low whisper.

"People like you?" Dean repeated, not understanding.

Logan turned to look him in the eye. "Mutants," he said softly. "And believe me, we have to learn how to blend in."

"Oh," Dean replied softly. "How many are there? Like you?"

Logan shook his head with a shrug. "Nobody is just like me, Bub. But how many of the others are there? Nobody knows, not even the professor. We got close to a hundred kids at the Institute, and the professor is trackin' down more everyday. The kids learn all the normal readin' and writin', but then they get the extra classes, the real useful ones. Like mine." He eyed Dean seriously. "And yours."

He hadn't even said he'd think about it, and freaking Logan already had him working there. Dean shook his head before taking a long pull on his bottled beer.

"At least talk to him," Logan urged. "Doncha think it'd be fun? Bub, you'd have a blast in our training room. I teach close quarters combat." He grinned. "I'd give my left arm ta see how you handle one-a my sessions."

"Not your right arm?" Dean asked.

"Nah," Logan scoffed. "I need it to pull your ass outta the fire."

Dean had to laugh at that one. "Last time I checked, I was the one using the fire to save your ass?"

Logan snorted derisively. "And people say my memory's bad."

Dean impulsively slammed his shoulder into Logan's, throwing the older dude off balance.

"Hey," Logan protested. "You spilled my beer!"

"Serves you right," Dean snapped. "So is this a paying gig?"

Logan shook off his beer soaked hand. "Yeah. Plus room and board. Well?"

Dean shrugged. "I'll think about it. So this was really a recruiting trip?"

Logan got a funny look on his face. "Uh, no. Actually, Professor X stopped me on my way out the door and told me to offer you a job." He scratched the top of his head. "It's kinda weird, because he never hires anybody who, you know, couldn't have gone to school there."

He never hires a non-mutant. Weird. Dean nodded that he understood.

"I reckon you made a big impression on him," Logan added. "He's real anxious for you ta start. Said he could set up a class as early as Monday."

With a deep frown, Dean considered it. While some steady income would be nice, the professor would probably want him there all the time. Hunting might not be the perfect life, but it was his life. And what would Dad say?

"Just talk to him," Logan urged. "I c'n give him a call and he'll meet us someplace, to work out the details. The professor figured you'd only want a part-time position anyway."

Part-time? Dean shrugged noncommittally. "I'll talk to him, but no promises."

Logan grinned broadly. "I'll set it up. Back in a minute." He headed off toward the pay phones.

Dean watched the guy he had been slowly beginning to consider a friend walk away, maybe getting him in a mess he wouldn't be able to extricate himself from. Then again, if he could talk Logan into helping out on a hunt now and again, those freaking three foot claws could really come in handy. That might be a point of negotiation with the professor. And a steady paycheck? Things were looking up for a change.

* * *

Professor Xavier placed the receiver in its cradle. He pulled a special file from his desk labeled 'Winchester, Dean.' There were only a few pages, the little information they had been able to glean about this subject. Public school records, which had been nearly impossible to locate since they were literally scattered across the country, showed Dean to be of average intelligence, doing at best the absolute minimum to get by. His mental stroll through the boy's mind had proven quite the opposite, showing Dean's intelligence to be rather impressive. Logan's reports on how Dean managed to work around the safeguards he had left in the boy's mind had been startling, to say the least.

Charles Xavier shuffled the sparse pages until the doctor's report rested on top of the pile. Dean Winchester had tested positive for the mutant gene. With such an unbelievably stressful lifestyle, it was a wonder the boy had not shown any signs despite the fact he was well into his twenties. It could be too late, Charles reflected, the gene could simply be dormant. Or...perhaps...a subtle nudge was needed for the boy to see his true potential.

Dean had a brother, Samuel Winchester. A genetic sample would soon be collected to see if Sam also carried the mutant gene, however those results would not be available for at least a week. If only he could also test the father, but John Winchester could not be found. The nomadic lifestyle of the hunting Winchesters left no forwarding addresses. Their best bet was to attempt to keep tabs on Dean.

Charles pressed the intercom button on his phone. "Please have the jet prepared. I have a meeting this afternoon."

"Yes, Professor."

The rather sketchy psychological profile they had compiled on Dean suggested to offer him his own courses, autonomy in those classes, the freedom to come and go as he pleased, and to take any suggestions he made very seriously. This combination should foster not only a sense of self-worth and well being, but a feeling of being valued by the Institute as well. Ever since experiencing Dean's life, Charles had been fascinated by the boy's apparent ability to blend in and easily adapt to new environs. Asking him to teach a course in Urban Camouflage had seemed not only a natural request, but beneficial to his students as well. Many mutants, even the ones who exhibited no obvious exterior mutations, found 'fitting in' to be extremely difficult and yet Dean, who clearly felt like more of an outsider than most of the students here, performed this task with ease. He set the file in his lap to read through again on the journey to meet Logan and Dean before rolling out of his office.

* * *

Bobby held a parts list in hand as he walked through the salvage yard. Part of his time had to be spent filling the customer requests, or he wouldn't have any income. He checked it again. Yeah, he might have an alternator on that Dodge near the house. Bobby popped the hood for a look. When he leaned in, a flash of that guy Logan's face went through his head. Bobby froze, not really understanding it. Then he saw it again, a memory. The realization hit him so sharply he stood straight up, whacking his head on the underside of the hood.

Cursing loudly, Bobby slammed the Dodge's hood back down with a vengeance. He headed for the house, one hand on the lump already forming and the other still clutching his list. His mind was in a whirl. He knew the face of Dean's friend. Knew it well.

Inside the house, Bobby headed straight for his bedroom. Up in the top of his closet, underneath some moth-eaten wool blankets, was a thin black book. Bobby pulled it out, careful not to tilt it too much. He rested it on the bed before flipping on the overhead light. His head still smarted, but he wanted to clear this business up before Dean and that Logan guy returned.

The front of the black book was stamped U.S. Army, underneath it, Basic Training. It was the yearbook his training camp had offered. Bobby still wasn't sure what made him keep it all these years, but what he was looking for was not printed on the pages. He wanted the photos he had stuffed just inside the the hardback book.

Several yellowing black and white photos rested on the cover page. One was of Bobby and his parents standing in front of the barracks they lived in for basic training. A few were of the friends he had made during those three months. Bobby tossed those aside in favor of the remaining, the photos from his time in Viet Nam.

Some of the guys he hung out with were crowded around one of the barracks, smiling faces despite the fact they were in a war zone. Right there, on the far left, was the face which had left his house only a couple of hours ago. Logan. The name even sounded right. Bobby flipped the photo over to see if he actually wrote anything there. Yep, there were the names of everyone in the picture, including Logan.

Massaging his lump, Bobby carried the photo downstairs to the kitchen. He left it on the kitchen table while he filled a plastic bag with ice. Sitting at the table and applying the ice to his head, Bobby stared at the photo from all of those years ago. Maybe the guy with Dean was this man's son or grandson? God, he wasn't that old. Son. Dean's friend could be his war buddy's son. Staring at the photograph, Bobby allowed the memories he normally shut out to flow. Damn, even that unlit cigar seemed familiar. Must be a family trait.


	9. Chapter 9: Expectations

**Chapter 9: Expectations**

Logan could smell the sharp tang of fear-scent off of Dean as they headed for the front door of the fancy restaurant. The professor ought to be waitin' on them. Logan knew this recruiting tactic of Professor X's, to show a glimpse of how good life with the Institute could be. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth either.

"Relax," he growled at the man walking next to him. "The Professor don't bite."

"No, that's your job, right?" Dean snarked. If it weren't for the fact he tell how scared the kid actually was, Logan would've knocked him flat on his backside. Instead he gave the kid a shove to the shoulder, a gentle rebuke for being an ass. At the door Dean gave himself a shake, kind of like a dog shaking off water. The fear-scent faded, mostly, and after squaring his shoulders Dean opened the door.

Logan followed closely, curious about how Dean was masking the fear-scent. He hadn't known that was possible.

"Good afternoon, uh, gentlemen." A snooty guy in one of them outfits with the frilly white shirt approached. He sniffed, like he could smell somethin' nasty.

Logan scented the air. He couldn't even detect the fear-scent Dean had been givin' off outside. All he could smell was the food here, and it smelled real good. "What?" he demanded. "You don't like the smell of your own cookin'?"

Dean's foot kicked out to the side, whacking his shin. Before Logan could retaliate, the kid had taken over the conversation.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly with a disarming smile, addressing the punk in the sissy shirt. "We have reservations. Whitehead?"

Sissy shirt frowned at them. "_You_ have reservations?"

Dean rolled his eyes, half turning to face Logan. "I told you we needed to change at the club. Places like this just aren't understanding."

Not knowing what in the hell the kid was playing at, Logan gave a noncommittal grunt in reply.

"The club?" Sissy shirt stepped a little closer and Dean nodded sadly.

"Yes, I'm afraid my colleague forgot to bring his tie, and you just can't wear Armani without a tie. Well, I couldn't let him feel out of place." Dean gestured at his own clothes. "We had an excellent day of shooting. Neville is going for the club record." The kid nodded at him.

Neville? What the...

"Whitehead?" Sissy shirt asked, moving back to the desk by the door. He flipped through a few pages, peering down earnestly. "My apologies, sir, but I don't seem to have you down."

Dean frowned deeply, clearly disappointed. "Really? Oh, wait. Neville, was it today that we're supposed to meet that friend of yours? What was his name again?"

"The Professor?" Logan asked, now convinced this was just some kind of game.

Dean snapped his fingers and an expression of sudden understanding crossed his face. "That's it. Professor Xavier."

Sissy shirt snapped to attention then. Logan had expected the professor's name to get attention, it always did in ritzy joints like this, but not usually to this extreme. Sissy shirt practically bowed and slobbered excuses and apologies all over the place while leading them to the professor's table.

"Oh, it's all right," Dean assured Sissy Shirt with a wave of his hand, "just make sure our beer stays cold."

"Of course, Mister Whitehead," Sissy Shirt groveled. "Mister Xavier, I do wish you had warned us about your distinguished guests."

The Professor chuckled and shook his head. "Well, I'm never quite certain if _Mister Whitehead_ wants to be known, Phillip."

Sissy Shirt backed away from the table with promises to bring the beer right away.

"I'll bet it's imported," Dean said in his regular voice with a snort. He locked eyes with Logan. "Five bucks says they don't charge us for the beer."

Professor Xavier grinned, real big. "Dean, it is good to see you again. But you really did not need to audition, I assure you, the job is yours if you want it."

"Audition?" Dean asked, leaning back in his chair. He kicked one foot up to rest on his knee, tilting the chair back on two legs. "For Urban Camouflage one-oh-one?"

"Indeed." Professor X picked up his wine glass and swirled it in his hand before taking a sip. "Dean, I feel you have an extraordinary skill which would be most useful to our students. Some of them quite obviously will not be able to blend in, but most retain perfectly normal appearances, yet even in a crowd they seem to stand out. This is where you will come in." He placed his glass on the table.

Sissy shirt and two waiters rushed over to the table. Dean was right, they had imported beer. Without a word they filled two frosty mugs with the beer, leaving the bottles with the last couple of swallows on the table.

"Mister Xavier, Mister Whitehead," Sissy Shirt announced with a short bow, "George will be your server today. However, if you have any problems or issues, please do not hesitate to call on me."

"Thank you," Professor X said graciously with a nod.

Sissy Shirt seemed reluctant to leave. Logan wondered what he could do to help the moron along, but after one last lingering look, the guy returned to his post by the front door.

"Unbelievable," Logan grunted, shaking his head. He heard Dean chuckle.

"Are you gentlemen ready to order?" Their server, George, asked with a pen poised above his writing pad.

"I believe we are all in the mood for steak," Professor X announced. "Logan takes his rare, Dean medium rare, and I shall order medium-well."

"Very well, sir. Sides? The asparagus is excellent today. Also, we have whipped cauliflower, baked potato, sautéed green beens, and glazed baby carrots," George announced.

"I will have the asparagus and whipped cauliflower," Professor X ordered.

"Potato," Dean ordered, raising one finger to get the guy's attention.

"Same as him," Logan said, tilting his head at Dean. "Everything on it."

George scurried off to place their order.

"Do you think you can teach others to do that?" Professor X demanded, motioning in the direction of Sissy Shirt.

Dean shrugged and sipped his beer. "Maybe. Dunno. It comes kinda natural. But blending into a crowd, making yourself at home wherever you are? Now that I can help out with."

"Excellent," The Professor enthused. "Now, I doubt you would be able to stay with us more than a week at a time, considering your real job, so how about we start there? One week each month, teaching our students how to fit in, regardless of their surroundings." He pulled some folded papers from his suit jacket pocket. "Look these over and see if the compensation is agreeable."

Dean accepted the papers. As he read, his eyes widened and darted over the page at the Professor. "Dude, really? Are you serious?"

"Quite serious, Dean. At least for now. I believe your services will become invaluable. Even members of our senior staff, such as Logan, could no doubt benefit from a course such as yours."

Logan wanted to tell Professor X that he didn't need any stinkin' class to blend in, but The Professor was givin' him The Look. The Look meant to shut up and sit still, so he did. Besides, he wanted Dean teachin' at the Institute. It'd be nice to have somebody to hang out with, maybe watch a little wrestling or hockey in the evenings. And seein' how Dean fared in the Danger Room? Now that had entertainment written all over it.

"Would you care to discuss it with Logan for a moment?" Professor X asked. "Perhaps I should make use of the facilities. Excuse me."

Dean watched Professor Xavier drive his wheelchair away. He folded the papers back up. "He's really going to pay me this? For one week a month?"

Logan had no idea what the pages clutched in Dean's hand said. "You c'n trust The Professor, Dean. I do." But Dean still appeared indecisive. "Tell ya what, just take it with you," Logan suggested with a wave of his hand. "I know The Professor won't mind, and if you decide to do it, we'll give him a call and set it up."

Dean's gaze rested on the papers. "That's a lot of money, dude." He breathed deeply. "Yeah, I'll think about it. You don't think he'll be offended that I'm not signing right now?" He nodded toward the bathrooms.

"Nah." Logan snorted loudly. "No sweat. You're not the first instructor that's been hired."

With a look of relief, Dean tucked the contract into his back pocket.

* * *

John's research kept going in circles. He could find a location for this Xavier Institute, a school for the gifted and talented, and that it was privately funded, but that was about it. Charles Xavier was the founder and the Institute was on his personal property. It was the actual nature of the school, and the types of so-called gifted and talented students, those were the things he could not find. Well, hell, he had an address, right? He could drive over and check this place out himself. It was in New York state, a couple of towns over from Dean's last hunt.

His phone rang twice during the drive. The first call was Adam, checking that everything was all right. John assured the boy it was fine and promised to meet up in a few months.

The next call was Bobby. John frowned at it. For some reason, he had been expecting Dean to call.

"Bobby? What is it?" he demanded, instantly worried there might be a problem with Dean.

"Dean has a friend," Bobby said slowly.

John waited, but his old friend did not add any more. "And?" he asked, confused about why Bobby would call regarding such a trivial matter.

"His friend reminds me of a guy I served with in the Army. I mean, this guy is a dead ringer, John." Again there was that strained hesitation. "Same name, too."

"Same name? It's probably your old buddy's son, Bobby," John reasoned, keeping his eyes on the road. He wanted to make the state line before dark.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too, but..."

All this hesitation crap was really wearing on John's last frayed nerve. "Damn it, Bobby. Spit it out already!"

A heavy sigh sounded through the phone. "It looks like they're back. If it's not the guy's kid, I'll call ya."

Not even a goodbye, and Bobby hung up. John growled to himself as he lowered the phone. Wait just a damn minute. They're back? Dean's friend was staying with Bobby? Who the hell did Dean know that his son trusted enough to bring to Bobby's? And not introduce to _him_?

A fresh wave of worry, concern and yes, a splash of jealousy, rose up. John jabbed at the buttons on his phone to call his son.

"Dad? What's up?" Dean's voice was cheerful and casual, like the boy didn't have a care in the world. For a split second, it made him think of Adam.

"Dean, what are you doing at Bobby's?" John demanded.

"Uh, nuthin'," Dean replied slowly. "I thought you told me to stay here and relax? Am I supposed to be doing something?"

"No, uh, that's not what I meant," John floundered. He was really doing a bad job of this. "I meant, Bobby called. Who's your friend?"

"Oh, you mean Logan," Dean said in the cheerful voice he had answered his phone with. "Yeah, I'm trying to talk him into staying long enough for you to meet him, Dad. But he swears he has to leave this evening for the Institute."

John slowed his truck to a standstill. "Say that again," he insisted, heart pounding against his ribcage.

"Logan has to leave?" Dean asked.

"For?" John prompted.

"Oh, the Institute. Yeah, that's where he, uh, works." He could almost hear Dean shrug, could visualize it as clearly as if his son were standing in front of him.

John swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry. "I see," he managed to reply. "Well, I guess I'll have to meet him some other time."

"Where are you, anyway?" Dean asked.

John rolled his eyes. He knew Dean wouldn't press, but he couldn't keep the boy from asking. "Just checking out a few rumors. I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Because I feel fine, Dad," Dean insisted. "I can meet up with you, if you're hunting."

"I'm not hunting anything yet," John assured his eldest and most dependable son. "If I find a hunt, I promise I'll call." Well, actually, it depended on what he found. He might be hunting at this so-called Institute. At the very least, it was damned strange.

After John hung up with his son, feeling amazingly relieved to have heard Dean's voice today, the drive to northern New York state felt quick. It was nearly three in the morning when he pulled up outside an expansive mansion which proclaimed itself to be the the Xavier Institute. It was gated, but through the iron front gates John could see the lighted front circular drive. Cameras were mounted at the top of the stone wall surrounding the place. One window was lighted, but curtains had been drawn closed. It made him think more of a high dollar compound than a school. Damned strange. This was the kind of place the locals would talk about, he was sure. After grabbing a couple of hours shut-eye in the car, John planned to find a diner and see what he could learn.

* * *

Charles Xavier stared at the pages of the literary accomplishment cradled in his hands without seeing the words printed on the pages. His thoughts were filled with Dean Winchester, a young man who had inadvertently captured his imagination.

"Professor?" A girl with long black hair leaned through the wall. "What's wrong? You can't sleep either?"

"Kitty." Charles set aside his book, he hadn't been reading it anyway. "Another nightmare?"

She stepped fully through the wall, solidifying on his side. "Yeah," she sighed. Then her curious young eyes turned to him. "Is that why you're up?" She sounded hopeful.

Charles smiled at her, feeling a rush of affection for the girl. So many of the mutants here had been misunderstood, their abilities making them targets for the baser elements of the world around them. It had been foremost in his mind when he conceived of the perfect course for Dean Winchester to teach.

"Actually, I have am far too anxious to sleep tonight," he explained to her. Perhaps using the girl as a harmless confidant would give her a burst of confidence to offset her hidden fears. She perched on the edge of the couch in his sitting room, staring at him intently. "You see, Kitty, I am attempting to hire a specialist to teach a new course. One I believe you will benefit from greatly."

Kitty's dark eyes widened. Yes, considering Logan's attachment to both her and Dean, she would be an excellent choice for the first class. It was a shame Scott Summers was a little old to be ordered to take courses, but Charles thought perhaps Scott could be asked to oversee the new instructor. Such an excuse would at least force him into Dean's classroom, if the young man actually wanted a classroom.

"Really, Professor?" she asked. "What kind of course?"

Charles maneuvered his chair closer to her, so he would not have to speak much above a whisper. "This is top secret, Kitty. The only people who know are you, me and Logan." She nodded seriously. The mention of Logan's name with her was always a guarantee of compliance. "I call it Urban Camouflage."

Kitty's face shifted into a suspicious expression. "Meaning...?"

Charles chuckled at her. "Meaning, a course which teaches young mutants, like you, how to blend into a crowd of regular humans, how not to stand out. I believe your instructor is also known for impersonating law enforcement officials. Successfully." He winked at her disbelief. "If you don't believe me, ask Logan. He's due back tomorrow."

His answer was a brilliant smile. He did so love teaching and mentoring.

"Why don't you tell me about this dream," Charles suggested. "Sometimes it helps to talk about it."

Kitty dropped to the seat of the couch with a sigh, pushing a lock of dark hair out of her face. "Well, it's always dark, and I'm in a house. I start looking for a way out, when the room catches on fire." Charles nodded for her to continue. How odd. Many of the students had been dreaming of fire lately.


	10. Chapter 10: A New Position

**Chapter 10: A New Position**

Dean spread the papers from Professor Xavier out on Bobby's kitchen table. Here, at this ungodly hour of the morning, he could read through it in peace. The compensation offered in here, to teach only one week each month, was ridiculously high. It was suspicious. Why would Xavier want him to teach there so bad? He didn't really have anything to offer and it wasn't like he was a mutant.

With a sigh, he read over the terms and conditions again. It sounded too damned good to be true, and things that sounded too good to be true always were. There had to be a catch. Okay, what did he know? One, there were genetic mutants with bizarre healing and psychic abilities. Two, Logan was a mutant and a good guy, one Dean wanted to trust. Three, this Xavier Institute was willing to throw an obscene amount of money at him to teach mutants how to fit in.

"Coffee?" Bobby's voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. Dean scrambled to gather the papers before Bobby could see what they were.

"Freeze, boy," the older hunter snapped.

Dean laid across the offer from the Xavier Institute, busted bigger than daylight. He laid his head down on his arms, wondering just how much freaking fallout there would be now. While he waited for the inevitable chewing out, he heard Bobby moving around. Sneaking a peek, Dean saw his old friend pouring water in the coffee pot. After the fresh ground coffee went in the top and Bobby flipped the dial to start it perking, he figured it would start now.

Bobby sat in the chair across from him and motioned to the mess of paper under Dean's arms. "What's going on, Dean?"

Knowing he wouldn't be able to talk about mutants, Dean sighed and shook his head. "Well, uh, I kind of have a job offer."

Both of Bobby's eyebrows lifted, disappearing behind short wisps of hair normally confined by his trucker hat. "Job offer? Really?" He leaned forward, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the offer. "What kind of job?"

Dean straightened up and shoved the whole mess at Bobby. "Teaching." He held up one hand. "Don't say it."

"Say what?" Bobby demanded. "I didn't say anything. What would you be teaching?"

He scratched the back of his neck with one hand, eying the perking coffee. It wasn't ready yet. "Uh, they called it Urban Camouflage."

Bobby's gaze snapped to his face, his features hardening. "This isn't one of those weird cults that dances naked in the moonlight, is it?"

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so." He became thoughtful. "But if the chicks were good lookin' enough..."

"Stop it," Bobby snapped. "Let me see those. I'm pretty good at reading contracts. Let's see what they're offering you here."

"It's only part-time," Dean informed the older hunter as he gratefully pushed the mess across the table. "But I think they're offering me too much money."

"Really?" Bobby snorted. "Son, in my experience, there's no such thing."

Dean shrugged and waited while Bobby read over his contract.

* * *

"Weird things go on at that mansion," the waitress assured John. "We hear things."

"Yeah? Like what?" John smiled as he pulled out his trusty pocket-notebook. "Wait a minute, I need to be sure I spell your name right."

"My name?" The middle-aged woman perked right up. "Are you a reporter?"

"Yes, ma'am. With the Tribune," John said with his friendliest smile. "Now is that Ann with or without an 'e' on the end?"

"With," she stated, leaning over to check that he wrote it down correctly. "Last name is H-e-s-s-m-a-n."

"Thank you," John replied with a bob of his head. He lifted his head to peer deeply into her eyes. "You were saying? About that mansion?"

"Oh, we hear things," Anne told him conspiratorially. "There's lots of strange stuff going on over there. Why just a few months ago there were a bunch of explosions, like somebody was attacking the place. But was it on the news? No. The police act like it never happened, and that's the God's honest truth."

"And..." A man who had been sitting behind John in a booth near the windows picked up his coffee to join him at the counter. "Way I hear it, there are things, like half-human and half-animal, living in that place. It's a danger to decent folk."

"Uh-huh," Anne agreed whole-heartedly. John scribbled down the information as quickly as he could. He might be calling Dean within a few days, after a little more legwork. This certainly sounded like their kind of case. Could a werewolf pack have taken over the school? Or maybe his old mentor missed a vampire nest? Unlikely, but it was a possibility.

After John left the diner, he spent the rest of the day in various public establishments, asking around about the Xavier Institute. No one knew what kind of school it really was, there didn't seem to be any local kids who attended the boarding school although teens could be seen on the grounds during the day. A few people thought it was a boarding school for problem kids, the kind who were always in trouble. That did not explain why there weren't any locals there, however. Surely all of the kids in this town weren't freaking perfect.

* * *

"They're offering this for part-time?" Bobby asked, his mouth dropping open. "You're right, it does sound like too much." He eyed Dean across the table. "What's the catch, boy?"

"Catch?" Dean instantly felt uncomfortable. Bobby was one person he had never been able to fool, not that he had ever really tried.

Bobby scratched his jaw, eyes pinned to the paper in his hand. "Urban Camouflage, huh? Now what would some fancy institute want with a class like that?" His gaze snapped to Dean. "I don't suppose this has to do with that phone call about mutants?"

Dean wanted to protest, but he couldn't even do that. He needed to remember to insist the professor take this whammy off of him if he went to work there.

"Because I've been doing some research since your call. Wait here." Bobby tapped the wood table with one finger. While he waited, Dean refreshed the coffee in his mug. He was still working on his cup when Bobby returned with a thin black book.

"This is kind of a graduation from boot camp album," Bobby explained as he flipped it open. Curious, Dean leaned on the table for a better look. "And this," Bobby plucked a yellowing photo from between the pages, "is a picture of me and some of the guys goofing off."

Dean took the old picture from Bobby's hand to study. Bobby wasn't easy to spot at first, without the trucker's hat. He was young, clean shaven, and smiling for the camera. "Dude," Dean said with a chuckle, "who knew you were a stud?"

"Look at the guys on the left side," Bobby instructed.

Dean shifted his focus to the left side of the photo. No one looked even remotely familiar, until the last person on the left, barely inside the picture. Logan. Holy crap!

"I figure it must be his daddy," Bobby said with a frown. "Really favors him, doesn't he?"

With a hard swallow, Dean handed it back.

"So your friend Logan, he works there too?" Bobby asked, waving a hand over the proposal.

Dean nodded, a little surprised he was even allowed to do that.

"You're sure these aren't nutjobs out to overthrow the government?" Bobby asked, casually picking up his coffee.

"No," Dean admitted. "I'm not sure of anything. I met the guy who runs the place, Professor Xavier, and he seems on the level. Logan sure trusts him."

Bobby stared at the far wall for what felt like years before his gaze shifted back to Dean. "I say, if you want to do it, do it. But watch yourself, boy. If they do turn out to be nutcases, we might need to turn them in to the feds."

"When you put it like that, I can't exactly turn it down now, can I? It'd be un-American." Dean tapped a finger on the page outlining his compensation. "I had an idea about this. Last time I checked up on Sam, he was sharing a dorm room with three guys. What if I convinced the Institute to take most of my pay and give it to Sam? Like a grant or scholarship? Then he might be able to afford his own place."

A smile snaked its way across Bobby's face. "Dean, you have to be the best damn brother I ever heard of."

Dean shrugged, as if the comment hadn't meant a frigging thing and hoped the heat rising in his cheeks wouldn't produce color too. "No big deal, Bobby," he insisted. "It's not like I need a lot of money, anyway. College is expensive."

"Now I know you're gonna do it," Bobby replied, eyes twinkling over the lip of his coffee mug. "So where is this place and when do you move?"

"Upstate New York, back in Westchester County," Dean replied. "And the offer is for one week a month, I'm going to be hunting the rest of the time. Man..." He chewed his lower lip, eyes seeking help from Bobby. "What am I gonna tell Dad?"

* * *

Bobby flipped the celebratory pancakes while Dean listened to the ringing of a phone. It was still early, but he wanted to go ahead and negotiate his terms while his discussion with Bobby was fresh in his mind.

"Good morning, Xavier Institute," a chipper woman's voice answered.

"Morning," Dean replied. "I'd like to speak with Professor Xavier."

"I'm sorry, the professor is not taking calls this morning. May I take your name and number?" she asked.

Well, that just freaking figured, didn't it? "Yeah, okay. It's Dean Winchester and he can reach me at-"

"One moment," she cut him off.

Dean frowned and exchanged a shrug with Bobby while he waited to see what was going on. He heard a receiver being picked up again.

"Dean?" Professor Xavier's smooth accent flowed through the phone. "Does this mean you've made a decision, or do you still have some questions?"

Dean blinked in surprise, only allowing his shock to delay his answer a few seconds. "Well, I did want to negotiate a little."

"Don't tell me it's not enough money," the professor said with a chuckle.

"Actually, it's too much," Dean stated. "I'd like you to offer most of it to my brother as a scholarship or grant or something. Knowing him, he's been getting so many, he'll won't even notice he didn't apply for it."

"Well..." Professor Xavier's voice trailed off. "I must admit, this possibility had not occurred to me, but we can certainly arrange that. How much of your salary? Fifty percent?"

"More like eighty," Dean replied, running a few calculations in his head. He could easily live off twenty percent of the offer without having to resort to hustling or credit card scams, if he lived at the Institute for the time he would be teaching.

"Eighty." He heard the rustle of paper. "That's most generous of you, Dean. I certainly hope your brother appreciates you. Wouldn't you rather send it to him directly?"

"No," Dean stated firmly. "He can't know it came from me, or the deal is off."

"Very well. Is there anything else?" the head of the institute asked.

"Uh, yeah, actually there was one more thing." He glanced guiltily at Bobby before hitting Xavier with his next question. "If I'm on a hunt where Logan might be real useful, can he come along? If he wants?"

There was a long sigh through the phone. "I was afraid of this. Dean, as you know, I would prefer our two worlds not to cross. However, if it does not interfere with his other duties, and if Logan is willing, I will not disallow it."

He must be a law professor, Dean decided. "So it that a yes?"

"Yes, Dean," he said with a chuckle. "That was a yes. Now is there anything else? Do you require more time to weigh your options?"

"If you'll put all that in writing, I'll do it. I'm not sure exactly how you expect me to teach this, but I'll give it a shot," Dean promised.

"Excellent!" Professor Xavier exclaimed. "I'll have the new contract drawn up immediately. It will be waiting for you to sign first thing Monday. I will schedule your first class session for the afternoon. Do you have any idea how you would like to start? Will you require a classroom, or perhaps you would prefer meeting your students in a more informal setting?"

"Actually, I've been thinking about that. Is there a game room, or some type of common area just for hanging out?" Dean asked.

"There is," Xavier assured him. "Would you like it for your first session?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. After I meet the kids, I figure I'll have a better idea of what to work on. You do realize I'm just going to be winging it, right?" He was not certain why he felt the urgent need to tell the professor this, convinced it would negate the offer.

"Of course, Dean," Xavier said confidently. "Why do you think I choose you for this position? So, first thing Monday morning? Eight a-m?"

"I'll be driving in from South Dakota," Dean replied. "I don't know about eight in the morning, unless I drive all night."

"No, we can't have that. Why don't you plan to arrive earlier, perhaps Sunday evening? Then Logan will have the opportunity to show you around the estate and you'll have time to settle in before your first class," he suggested. "We can discuss any other items which might occur to you during the drive over dinner Sunday evening. Is that agreeable?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted. "Sounds great. I'll see you then."

"Very well. I shall inform Logan immediately," Xavier promised. "Until Sunday, Dean."

"Bye." Dean hung up the phone and stared at it until Bobby slid a plate full of flapjacks in front of him.

Bobby sat across from him with a similar full plate. "So now you have a job, huh?"

Dean shifted his attention to his friend. "Yeah. Looks like." He ran a hand over his hair. "Bobby, I have no freaking idea what I'm going to do. How can I teach people to do what I've been doing my whole life?"

Bobby held up a hand. He jumped up from the table and left the room. Dean waited impatiently, not knowing what the old guy might be up to. He returned a minute later with a small spiral notebook and a pencil. Sliding it across the table, he winked. "Make a list. What's the first thing you always did when you moved? Or started a new school? Or, hell, when you walk into a bar you've never been in before? Write it down." He tapped the clean page.

Dean slowly picked up the pencil with his right hand. Using his left hand, he sliced off a hunk of breakfast to stuff in his mouth while he thought. Slowly he started making a list of his thought process each time he encountered a new environment. Long after the flapjacks had been polished off, Dean continued working on his list, going over the steps in his head again and again. When he felt fairly confident that he had them all, he recopied it neatly on a fresh page to show to Bobby.

Bobby lifted his head from the book he had been absorbed in since breakfast. "That took a while," he grunted as he held out a hand for the notebook.

Dean passed it over, anxious to hear Bobby's take on it. Bobby read it over, twice, before looking up. "Really?" he asked in a gentle voice. "You do all of this? Isn't it kind of overkill?"

Dean shook his head. "Some if it's automatic, I don't even think about it. But if you skip too much, it won't work."

"What won't work?" Bobby asked, leaning forward in the old, beaten armchair.

"Blending in," Dean replied with a shrug. "The real key isn't to disappear, it's to be accepted. That," he waved at the notebook, "is a guide to temporary, initial acceptance."

"Temporary?" Bobby asked. "What good is that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. This all seemed so simple, until he had to write it down. "Temporary is all you need to avoid a call to the cops, or being on the receiving end of a beating. Besides, why worry about permanent if you're leaving in an hour, or even a week?"

"Huh." Bobby nodded his head, his eyes dropping back to the notebook. "Never thought about it." He kept nodding at Dean's careful script until he raised his head again. "Would you mind if I had a copy of this?"

Dean chuckled as he flopped onto Bobby's faded blue couch. "Sure. Whatever. But how the hell do I teach that?" He waved a hand at the notebook.

Bobby shrugged. "I think you should start with steps one and two, how to act confident and appear like you belong there, like you own the place. You told that professor guy you wanted the first class someplace informal, right?"

Dean nodded at him.

"Then why don't you show up first, before your students, and not introduce yourself? Make like you just wandered in off the street, and win over some of this initial acceptance. If you can show 'em it works, you'll have their attention." Bobby stood up. "I'm makin' a copy of this. Back in a minute."

Dean pondered Bobby's advice. It sounded good. Yeah, it was do-able. He might even be able to work in the benefits and disadvantages of wearing a hat while he was at it. Should he give homework assignments? Ah, crap. This was going to be even harder than he had feared.

* * *

Bobby waited impatiently as his dusty fax machine sputtered to life. It was the only thing in the house which could make a copy. The yellowed plastic casing vibrated as it went through its warm-up. It took the infernal machine nearly five minutes to settle down, then he pulled the perforated page carefully from the notebook before feeding it into the slot. When he pressed the button, the paper slid as gracefully into the belly of the mechanical beast as the handwriting on its surface.

Now what kind of flaky organization needed somebody to teach Urban Camouflage? Granted, they couldn't have picked a better person to teach it than Dean, but why? This Xavier Institute could be some kind of cult, recruiting members by supposedly hiring them. Expensive, since nearly everybody would walk out the first time the paycheck bounced, so not really plausible. Okay, maybe a private para-military group? Now that was more likely, and would fit some of the rumors he had been hearing lately.

Bobby promised himself if he didn't hear from Dean every damn day the kid was up at this so-called Institute, he would raise holy hell until he got somebody's attention. Actually, all he would really need to do would be to tell John Winchester. Bobby would bet even money John would find his son within twenty-four hours of going missing.

He returned to the main room, where Dean sprawled across the couch staring at the far wall like his mind was a million miles away. Bobby held the notes in Dean's face until the kid started, as if he had sneaked up, and took it.

"You need to call me," Bobby informed him, intentionally towering over Dean. "And I mean every single day."

Dean frowned and pushed up to a sit. "What for?" he demanded.

"Boy, I don't know what kind of organization this so-called Institute is. And they're payin' stupid money, so that tells me they could be into somethin' shady. If you're not gonna tell your daddy about this, then you need to call me every damn day you're there. Got me?" Bobby demanded, narrowing his gaze on Dean's shocked expression. "Or I'm gonna tell."

Dean held up both hands in surrender. "Okay, Bobby. All right. I'll call, I promise."

"Every damn day," Bobby insisted, jabbing a finger in the air an inch from Dean's nose.

"Fine, every day. All right?" Dean asked, clearly puzzled. "Geez, what set you off?"

Bobby gave an exaggerated huff. "Maybe I just don't like all this secretive business. This isn't like you, Dean."

A lop-sided grin spread and Dean's eyes sparkled with good humor. "Bobby, it's like you said, they're throwing around stupid money. Why shouldn't I take advantage of it?"

Bobby couldn't help but chuckle and feel more at ease. Who could be upset when Dean was this upbeat?

Bobby felt pretty confident in Dean's decision the rest of the day and the next morning before Dean left. Once the house was empty, Dean's ringing voice and laughter no longer filling the empty spaces, the sense of things being very wrong began to creep in again. He was weighing his decision not to tell John Winchester what his oldest boy was up to against losing Dean's trust when one of the house phones went off. It was the business line.

"Singer Salvage," he answered, wondering if he would be crawling under some heap in a few minutes.

"Bobby?" John Winchester's sharp voice was a swift rebuke to his guilty conscience. "What do you know about the Xavier Institute?"

"Why?" Bobby demanded, wondering if John already knew. The man seemed nearly omniscient at times.

"Because Dean's done some work for this place, and I can't find out what it is," John snapped.

Bobby felt a rush of relief over the fact Dean's father was already on the case. "I've heard of it, but that's about it," he admitted. "I'd love ta help you look into it. Where are you?"

"Checking on some rumors," John replied stiffly. "Bobby, is Dean still staying with you? Or did he take off?"

"He, uh, left this morning," Bobby replied slowly. "Is that a problem?"

"Nah." A loud snort came over the phone. "Knowing Dean he's out looking for some fun. Hell, the kid deserves it, Bobby."

Stunned, Bobby nodded until he realized John couldn't hear it. "Yeah, he does."

"I'll call and check up on him in a couple of days," John said. "Maybe I can scare up an interesting hunt for him to work solo. He seems to like that."

"Does he?" Bobby asked, feeling wooden. All of his emotions were on pause. Suddenly Dean's job sounded like a really, really, really bad idea. Why did it seem like a good idea yesterday?

"Better believe he does," John stated. "Tell you what, Bobby. Why don't you see what you can find out from there and I'll check in with you day after tomorrow, compare notes?"

"Right. Fine." He nodded into the air, a distinct feeling of being stuck between two walls slowly moving towards a violent collision. The click of their connection severing was a roar in his ear, the sound of a starter pistol firing. The race was on.


	11. Chapter 11: Warm Welcome

**Chapter 11: Warm Welcome**

Dean pulled his car up to the massive freaking front gate of the Xavier Institute. God, what a place! It was frigging huge! The gigantic iron gates parted to let him drive in, closing again behind him. There was a lighted circular drive right in front, so Dean pulled up to the front door. Why not? He worked here, right?

Giving his baby an affectionate pat, Dean headed for the front door of the mansion.

"At least you're not talkin' to it." Logan's voice startled him before he could press the button for the doorbell.

Dean swung around to see Logan step out from around the side. "Hey, kid."

"Hey, fuzzy," Dean greeted warmly. "I don't see any other cars. Where am I supposed to park?"

"I'll show ya later," Logan promised. "You're late. The Professor's been waitin' on you to eat."

"I'm late?" Dean demanded. "He never gave me a time to be here. How the hell can I be late?"

"You just are." Logan shrugged and walked up to push open the front door. "Welcome to the Institute, kid."

Dean followed Logan through a ritzy front hall with an amazing wooden spiral staircase to the back of the mansion. A big carved wooden door stood open to reveal a fancy dining room complete with white linens and a room full of people. Oh, crap.

Dean shook out his shoulders to loosen up before stepping through the doorway.

"There he is!" Professor Xavier called out jubilantly. "I knew he wouldn't be much longer. Please..." He indicated two empty chairs on his left. "Join us. We were just discussing your new course."

Plastering on one of his innocent smiles, Dean led Logan around the table. They took their seats at the same time, Logan letting out a soft grunt which was no doubt supposed to be sympathetic.

"We are all very anxious to hear what you have planned for tomorrow, but first allow me to explain one thing," Professor Xavier announced. Dean watched him patiently while a waiter in a white suit, just like in a fancy restaurant, walked over to fill Dean's glasses with water and wine.

"Got any beer?" he whispered to the waiter with a wink.

The guy's expression didn't change, but he winked back and left the wine glass empty.

"There is a need for secrecy, as you are well aware," the professor told him, sounding an awful lot like some classroom lecture. "Therefore we all have codenames. I think, at least for the time being, it would be wise for you to know the others here only by their codenames, and the same will go for you."

"For me?" Dean asked. "You want me to have a codename?" Was this guy freaking serious?

"Oh, I am quite serious and I believe I have picked out the perfect one for you. I do understand the need for privacy in your line of work as well." He motioned to the other side of the table, where a guy with a rod up his back wearing funky colored sunglasses, indoors, sat. "This is Cyclops." He motioned to the red-headed woman beside him. "Uh, well, Jean. Jean, we really must choose a better name for you."

She laughed lightly. "Oh, I don't mind, Professor."

"Storm is next." Storm was a striking woman with gorgeous dark skin and brilliant white hair. Hot. "Down there at the end is Beast." A dude with blue fur, freaking fur!, raised a glass to him. "Next to him is Nightcrawler." It looked like blue was the theme down there. "And you know Logan already."

"Everyone, it is my pleasure to introduce the instructor for our new Urban Camouflage class, Hunter."

Dean didn't have time to suppress the chuckle that erupted over his codename. Hunter? Really? Can you say, no imagination? That was about the time the waiter dude returned with a cold bottle of beer. Dean nodded his thanks, however he had a feeling he would need a lot more alcohol than this before the night was over.

"I take it from your reaction that Hunter will be suitable?" Xavier asked.

Dean gave the professor a look he hoped pulled off a cross between awe and amazement, because everybody here seemed to revere this guy. "Yes, sir."

Even the dude with the funky sunglasses and the rod up his backside seemed to relax a little after that. The food was awesome, Dean asked for thirds of everything. The tense atmosphere in the room settled down while they ate. Dean told about how he and Logan met during a hunt, subtly skipping the explanation of what he had been hunting. Logan griped about the love affair he had with his car, to which Dean acted embarrassed even though he wasn't, encouraging the others to share a laugh at his expense. People felt better about you when they could laugh at you. He wondered what kind of classroom activity would drive that point home.

Cyclops and Jean exchanged little looks and glances during the meal, their hands brushing occasionally. Definitely knocking boots. None of the others were, but it was clear they all knew each other pretty well. He also had the distinct impression that Logan and Cyclops were not exactly friends. Oh. Did Logan have the hots for Jean? Bummer. Well that meant she was off-limits for sure.

"Tell me, Hunter," Beast asked from the far end of the table, "you have decided on the topic of your first class, haven't you? It is scheduled for tomorrow."

"Sure." Dean grinned as he popped a chunk of roll in his mouth.

"Are you to keep us in suspense?" Xavier demanded. "Or will we need to show up to find out?"

There were a few amused chuckles, but Dean had the feeling that at most only one or two of them would actually take the professor up on the implied offer. Cyclops seemed a little too amused, his laughter too loud, like he thought Dean's class would be a joke.

"How to act at ease in a totally foreign environment," Dean replied, shooting a brief but hard look at Cyclops, which worked perfectly. Jean nudged her elbow into the man's side and whispered to him, most likely telling him to back off. Dean gave her a look of thanks, not long enough to be flirting but enough to convey the sentiment, before returning his attention to Beast.

"Really?" Beast asked, but with all the fur Dean couldn't tell if he was interested or just being friendly. Man, it was really weird, bizarre, to be sitting around chatting with something that looked like some of the things he had hunted down and killed. "And how does one act at ease? Is there a formula for it?"

"You could say that," Dean replied in earnest. "For example, someone invites you into an environment you've never been in before. Of course that's the easy way, but let's start from there. You enter the new environment quietly and don't make any aggressive motions, following the lead of the person who invited you. If you can, tell some amusing stories, especially ones where people can laugh at you. It works even better if you can lead someone else into telling the laughable story about you. When people feel they can laugh at you, they feel more comfortable around you, like you're not a threat. Then you act normal, as if you dined in fancy places with white linens and real napkins everyday, even though the truth is you've never even seen real crystal," he picked up his empty wine glass, "in person before."

A stunned silence settled over the room, everyone frozen in place. A lone clap shattered the spell. Dean's head snapped to the side and Professor Xavier clapped again, a smile forming on his chiseled features. Dean replaced the wine glass on the table, picking up his cold bottle of beer instead.

Xavier laughed at him again. "You already have the job," he said loudly between laughs, "please stop auditioning!"

Dean shrugged in reply with a grin as he lounged back in the uncomfortable carved wood chair. "Honestly, Professor, half the time I don't know I'm doing it."

"But it certainly does seem to work." Xavier peered at the others around the table. "Wouldn't you agree? Did not you just feel, before the explanation, that Hunter had the potential of really fitting in here?"

"I can not speak for the others," Beast said, "but I certainly did. I would never have suspected the sensation had been engineered." He scratched thoughtfully at his head. "Would you mind if I sat in on a few of your classes? To observe? I am now most fascinated."

"Tell me, Hunter," Storm spoke up before he could answer, her eyes literally flashing when she spoke. Even her voice was hot. "How long have you had this skill?"

"Since I was a kid." That was a damned personal question and there was no freaking way he would give it a straight answer. Dean shrugged it off, as if people asked him frigging personal crap every day.

"Have you always been so accomplished in it?" Storm continued.

"Nah." Dean chuckled a little. "Got my ass kicked enough times that I started to figure there had to be an easier way."

"Your ass kicked, huh?" Cyclops asked with a chuckle. "Imagine that."

"Is he always like this?" Dean turned to ask Logan.

"Pretty much," Logan said in an undertone, his fork pushing uneaten mashed potato around on his plate.

"Huh." Dean tilted his head to one side to regard Cyclops, no longer really caring if he seemed to fit in. He decided the guy was just an asshole. Next Dean really checked out this dining room. It was fancy, but had no personality. There was nothing to distinguish it from some other mansion with dark paneled walls.

"Is everything all right, Hunter?" Xavier asked him.

"Huh?" Dean's head whipped around to look at the professor's confused expression. "Oh, yeah. I was just wondering what the rest of this place looks like."

"Well, how horribly rude of me." Xavier rolled backwards from the table. "If you have finished eating, please allow me to show you the areas of interest and your quarters. I believe you are next door, Logan?"

"Yep." Logan stood up with Dean. "I'll come along. I need to show him where to park his car."

"You have your own car?" Cyclops asked as they moved toward the door. "Civic?"

Dean snorted loud at him and shook his head without bothering to answer. His baby ate Civics for breakfast. He eyed Logan after they were in the hall.

"Civic? He was kidding, right?" Dean demanded. "Because I could go back in there and kick his ass."

Logan chuckled at him. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy watching it, kid, but not a good idea. He shoots lasers from his eyes. That's why he wears the glasses."

"Cyclops is also well trained in hand-to-hand combat," the professor added.

"Yeah, well," Dean glared over his shoulder at the door to the dining hall, "so am I."

"Yeah?" Logan used the back of his hand to slap Dean's shoulder. "What kind? I could use a decent sparring partner."

"Dude, you are so on," Dean replied with a grin.

* * *

Logan waited at the interior door to the garage so he could show Dean the tunnel back to the mansion. It was strange, but when Dean first arrived he had seemed, well, normal. Then he got kind of weird during dinner, putting on a show for the others Logan guessed, but at the end there turned back into his regular self. And the best part? Dean didn't like Cyclops either. Maybe he wasn't the only person who thought Summers was a jackass.

"Hang on," Dean said, motioning for him to step closer.

"What? I thought you were tired?" Logan demanded, watching the guy he recruited, his first instructor, spread his feet in a fighting stance.

"Nobody can see us in here," Dean replied with a shrug as he took off his jacket and dropped it on his duffel bag. "Let's see what ya got."

"Now?" Logan glanced around. It was a little creepy to spar in a dark garage. "You're serious? Kid, you're a little weird, you know that?"

Dean chuckled at him. "How about if I promise to take it easy on you?"

Logan groaned as he moved to face Dean, hands up.

"No claws," Dean stated. "Right?"

"Right," Logan sighed. "Get started already."

Dean lifted his hands. "It might take me a few times to figure out your style."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Making excuses already? I hadn't laid a hand on you yet!"

Dean's head shook and a real serious look came over his face. He motioned for Logan to start. Okay, whatever. Logan struck out with his right, intending to pull his punch at the last second, but it was diverted. Huh. Lucky. He tried his left, with the same result.

"Hang on," Logan insisted. He removed his outer shirt, dropping it on a workbench. "Okay, I'm ready now."

"You weren't ready before?" Dean asked with a teasing smile.

"Shut up and fight, kid," he snapped. Dean's hands were actually faster than his mouth, and Logan wouldn't have believed that possible. Hands, arms and fists flew through the air, lashing at each other and being blocked again and again before reaching their targets. Just as Logan started to really get into it, enjoying himself, Dean stepped away.

"Okay, okay," he panted, rubbing at his left upper arm. "You're good."

"Not so bad yourself. You know," Logan added with a grin, "for a kid."

"Ha. Ha." Dean rolled his eyes, his right hand diving out to snatch his jacket and duffel bag off the floor. Logan grabbed his own shirt, pulling it on before they hit the tunnel. The kid rubbed at his left arm again as they walked through the tunnel.

"Hurt your arm?" Logan asked.

"Nah." He chuckled. "Just been a while since I had a decent sparring match."

"You call that decent?" Logan snorted. "Bub, that was amateur night."

"I know," Dean replied. "I didn't say it was a good match. Man, I didn't think I was that out of shape." He rolled his shoulders. "I don't suppose there's a work out room too?"

"Sure," Logan told him. "I'll show it to ya sometime tomorrow. It's kind of late and I got an early session in the morning."

"Do you know where this common area I'm supposed to have my class tomorrow is?" Dean asked as they exited the tunnel and headed for the stairs.

"Sure. We'll pass it on the way." Logan glanced over. "Why? Want to get the lay of the land before your first day?"

"Something like that." Dean looked straight ahead, and Logan could not tell if the kid meant it or not. One thing was for sure, there was no way he was missing the kid's first class tomorrow.

* * *

Dean slipped out of his room in the dead of night. The mansion was eerily quiet. He made his way down the long corridor to the common rooms. The one designated for his class had a huge sectional couch which could probably seat ten or twelve, a big screen television, an air hockey table and a small pool table. Toying with the idea of letting the kids walk in on him shooting pool, Dean eyed the television. Surely with a kick-ass setup like this, they had the capacity to record.

He located the remote and turned it on, careful to keep the volume all the way down. A flashing light on a rectangular black box caught his eye. Recorder. Yahtzee! Dean checked through some of the tapes other people had recorded and found one of a regular season hockey game, which had to be a few months old since it wasn't hockey season. Perfect. Dean tucked the tape under his arm, putting everything else back the way he had found it.

His left arm kept complaining, sore and bruised muscles from the wendigo knocking him around. It might be a couple of weeks before he would be back in top fighting form, but stalling Logan that long could be a problem. Actually feeling excited about teaching kids the kind of lessons he had had to learn the hard way, Dean returned to his room and the lumpy mattress with pristine clean sheets. There had been a class list waiting in his room for his arrival and now he studied it, committing the names to memory. Funny how the first time he really studied was for a class he was teaching.


	12. Chapter 12: A New Kind of Class

**Chapter 12: A New Kind of Class**

Bobby Drake caught up with Kitty Pryde in the hall outside the common room. He checked the slip of paper in his hand again; it definitely read Rec Room 1.

"There's someone in there," Kitty whispered to him. Two other students stood beside her.

Bobby shrugged. "It's probably our instructor. I heard Professor Xavier hired someone just for this course. Come on, let's introduce ourselves."

Kitty shook her head, dark hair swaying, as she pointed inside. "I don't think so."

Bobby peered through the partially open door. Some guy wearing a white ball cap sat on the couch watching a hockey game.

"Should we call somebody?" she asked, and one of the other kids made a noise in agreement.

Bobby frowned as he stared at the white ball cap. Who in their right minds would break in to watch sports? "Let's see if he's supposed to be here first," he suggested. "Come on, he looks harmless." Bobby took her by the arm just above the elbow and propelled her inside the room.

"Uh, excuse me?" Bobby said in a loud voice to be heard over the hockey game. "Excuse me!"

The guy in the ball cap, Bobby could see now he was an adult, jumped at the sound of his voice. The guy turned the volume down. "What?" He sounded aggravated.

"Uh, you can't watch that here," Bobby tried to explain.

The guy snorted at him. "Yeah? Watch me." The volume went back up.

Irritated, Bobby moved to stand in front of the big screen and manually turned the sound all the way down. "I said you can't watch that in here," Bobby repeated. "We have a class."

The guy glanced over at the other students standing beside Bobby. "Oh, come on, dude. You can do better than that," he said in a sarcastic tone. "If you want the room all to yourself, just say so."

A few more students filed in with confused expressions while Bobby tried to get rid of this guy.

"Uh, I don't want the room to myself." He gestured to the kids crowding behind Kitty. "We have a class. Do you want to see my class assignment?" Bobby held up the white slip of paper in his right hand.

The guy waved it off and motioned for Bobby to move out of the way of the television. Bobby stood his ground. "Our instructor will be here any minute," he insisted.

"Yeah?" the guy challenged, folding his arms over his chest. "You want to wait for him together?"

"Fine," Bobby snapped, leaning against the cabinet which housed the VCR and video games.

They sat there in a tense silence, the rest of the kids assigned to this class standing nervously behind the couch. The guy turned to look at all of them. Bobby hoped he was getting the message and would just leave already.

"So what kind of class is this?" The guy sounded as confused as Bobby felt. "Air hockey one-oh-one?"

Bobby was about to answer, figuring the guy for one of the transient mutants who came by to see Professor Xavier or a relative of someone here, but one of his classmates cut him off.

"Urban Camouflage," somebody in the back said. Bobby nodded in agreement when the guy gave him a quizzical look.

"Urban Camouflage?" The guy laughed and sat up straight. "No kidding? What the heck is that?"

"We don't know," Bobby admitted, his irritation waning. "This is the first class."

The guy snapped his fingers. "Hey, I bet that's where you find some perfect stranger, a dude you never laid eyes on before, sitting around inside a secure area and watching regular season hockey during the off-season, and nobody thinks to call the cops on him." The guy looked Bobby right in the eye from under the brim of his ball cap. "Does that sound about right?"

"I...uh..." Bobby frowned before spinning around to look inside the cabinet he had been leaning against. The VCR was on and a tape was playing. He hit the stop button and the hockey game went to black. Bobby turned slowly back to face the guy with the hat. "Please tell me you're the instructor."

A bright smile flared on the guy's face. "Call me Hunter." His voice was full of authority. "Now if you'll all take a seat," he said as he stood, "let's talk about why no one ran out of here to call the police, or security, or even to find one of your other instructors." He turned to the closed door which led to the less used back hall. "You can come in now!"

The door opened and Professor Xavier, Logan, Storm, Beast and Cyclops entered the room and took up positions behind the couch, where all the students were rushing to sit.

"What's your name?" the instructor pointed to Bobby.

"Bobby," he replied with a heavy sigh, feeling like he had just been had.

"Bobby Drake, right?" the new instructor asked and waited for him to nod yes. "All right, Bobby, when you first arrived you could have turned right around and gone to alert someone with authority that there was a stranger in here. Why didn't you?" the guy who went by Hunter asked him.

Bobby wrapped his arms tightly over his chest and tapped his fingers nervously against his upper arms. Was he in trouble now? Was this a security test?

"Please, Bobby," Professor Xavier said from behind him, "I am curious as well."

Kitty nudged him in the side. Bobby shrugged. "Well, I didn't think anyone would break in here to watch t.v., so I figured he belonged."

"Ah!" The professor breathed from behind him. "Was that the point, Hunter?"

Hunter gave Bobby a quick nod and pretty much ignored Professor Xavier. "Actually, the point is blending in doesn't mean not being noticed, it means you have to appear like you already belong. Bobby was right, no one in their right mind would break into someone's house, or mansion," he made a sweeping hand gesture to include the entire room, "just to watch television. Even the fact I was watching hockey out of season didn't alarm anyone, because it still appeared to be a natural thing to do."

He slid down to sit on the floor in front of them. "Second point of the day. Can anyone guess how tall I am?"

Bobby exchanged glances with the kids on each side of him.

"Uh, around six foot?" Joe asked from the far end of the couch.

"Correct. Your name?"

"Joe."

Hunter nodded seriously. "Joe Barker? All right. Next, eye color?" Hunter turned his head slowly to look at each of them in turn. Unfortunately, the hat kind of hid his eyes.

"Brown?" he asked, unsure.

"Thank you, Bobby. Hair?" Hunter asked, still looking right at them.

"Definitely brown," Kitty said confidently. "And I'm Kitty."

Now he whipped off the hat, revealing hazel-green eyes and dirty blond hair. "Not only were the eye and hair color off, but I'd be willing to bet no one here would have been able to give a police sketch artist a really good description of what I look like thanks to this." He gave the hat a small toss in the air. "In a later class we'll go over ways to dress where you won't stand out and that can help you hide what you really look like. Now, let's talk about things you can do that will look natural in public." Hunter pointed to Kitty. "Kitty Pryde, what kinds of places make you feel uncomfortable? Like you stand out?"

Bobby found himself leaning forward, elbows on his knees, as he tried to absorb everything Professor Hunter had to say. Some of it sounded stupid, but if he really thought about it, eating fast food from the mall food court while he walked around looking at different shops made sense, it would make him look like he was just window shopping and that he had every right to be there. The key seemed to be understanding what would look natural and then doing it. Professor X should've hired this guy last year.

* * *

Dean begged off hanging out on the lawn with his students after class, claiming he and Logan had some plans. They seemed to literally hang on his every word. He couldn't wait to call Bobby to tell him how well the suggestion worked. It was freaking awesome! That Cyclops guy didn't even say anything when he left, just gave Professor X a long look which he noticed was ignored. Xavier was too busy pestering Dean with questions about tomorrow's class. Dean was planning on building off what they started today, steering the kids to thinking along the right lines before they moved on to actual exercises.

Beast hung around until only the three of them were left in the common room. "Plans?" he asked. He had one of those real cultured voices, but he didn't seem stuck-up. Well, hell, how could he be with all that freaking blue fur? "Do they include dinner? I ask because I would enjoy discussing the students' reactions to today's lesson. It was quite illuminating."

"Uh, I think we were just gonna spar a little, right?" Logan asked with an inquiring glance. "It's kinda early to eat."

Dean slapped his hat back on his head. "We can meet you for dinner later, unless you want to come watch fuzzy here get his ass kicked."

Logan snorted and rolled his eyes. "Kid, not even in your dreams." He nodded at Beast. "Seriously, I told De-uh, Hunter, that I'd help him get back into shape."

"Fuzzy?" Beast grinned, teeth white and sparkling against all that blue fur. "Then again, perhaps watching you two spar would be educational as well. Hunter, I accept your most gracious offer."

"Let's go," Dean replied, gesturing for the senior staff members to lead the way.

"And don't worry, kid," Logan informed him when they reached the gym, "I'll start off easy. Since, you know, you're so out of shape."

Dean grunted as he tossed his hat at the wall. It hit with a soft thump before dropping to the floor. He turned to face Logan. "So, bar-room brawl or more civilized?"

Logan grinned at him. "I am so glad you're workin' here. Oh, and civilized." He jabbed a thumb in Beast's direction. "That guy'll narc on us to the professor."

Beast scowled at both of them. "Logan, I do not narc, I simply wish for you to be train in a safe and responsible manner."

Dean chuckled. "Dude, that's a total narc." He toed his boots off, which joined the hat by the wall. "No gloves," he warned. "They slow me down. Besides, it's not like you'll be able to hit me anyway."

Logan snorted and tossed padded headgear at him. Dean turned it over in his hands, not really understanding.

"Narc," Logan said with a jerk of his head at Beast. He stood in the middle of the padded floor in his jeans and an undershirt.

"What about yours?" Dean demanded, holding up the headgear. Logan gave him a 'you gotta be kidding' look. Oh, right. Dude was over a hundred years old. Duh. "Never mind," he mumbled, pulling the stupid thing on. "I think you just want me to look like a dork."

"C'mon, kid," Logan said, motioning him forward. "Let's see what ya really got."

Dean shucked his outer shirt before walking out in the middle of the mat.

"Whoa," Logan breathed, leaning over to peer at his left arm.

"What?" Dean glanced down at the harsh purple and blue bruise. "Oh, that. Don't worry about it. Doesn't hurt."

"Uh-huh." Logan grunted, eyes narrowing on him. "That's why you weren't rubbing it last night too, right?"

"Right," Dean agreed readily.

"Damn kids," Logan grumbled as he motioned to Dean again. "I really am going to take it easy on ya now, like it or not. Now let's go."

With a scowl, Dean started the sparring. They fell into a steady rhythm, almost like it was a choreographed dance they had practiced. Logan was hard to read and his defenses were almost impossible to work past, but Dean kept a steady watch for any sign of weakness. He finally saw a decent opening and took it, laying into Logan's left side with a sharp blow and an accompanying kick on the right. Then he found himself lying on his back with an excellent view of the ceiling and unable to draw in air.

"Easy, kid," Logan said, hovering above him. "Uh, sorry about that. You kind of caught me by surprise."

Dean could only blink, his chest muscles contracted too tightly to allow movement. His lungs burned with a need for oxygen.

"Roll him on his side, Logan," Beast's voice filtered in from someplace above and to the right. He felt hands rolling him and pain lanced through his torso before the burning in his chest overcame the pain and he forced his ribs to move. Gulping oxygen greedily, Dean was powerless to resist the efforts to lift him to a sitting position.

"Concentrate on breathing, Hunter," Beast's smooth voice was calm and oddly comforting. "Slow."

Dean pushed out and pulled in air slowly, to a count of four each way until he could breathe normally again. He glared up at Logan, who looked distinctly uneasy. "Dude," he said slowly, "you gotta teach me that move."

Relief flooded Logan's face. "Yeah, right." He held out a hand. Dean grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to a stand.

"Seriously," Dean insisted. "What was that twist thing you did? Caught me totally off-guard."

"Well," Logan began, moving his feet into position, "you gotta start like this."

Dean copied Logan's movements, right up to where he needed to thrust a hip out. No, that was not happening today. Logan eyed him shrewdly.

"Did that, uh, thing you was hunting get you anywhere else?" He stared pointedly at Dean's side.

"Well, it didn't hurt earlier," Dean argued. "So are we ready to eat or what?"

"I shall meet you both in the cafeteria after your showers," Beast informed them before bounding away out the door and down the hall.

"Now he is always like that, right?" Dean asked as he gathered his things. He was still trying to figure out the other teachers. Man, it was weird to think of himself as a teacher. "Seems like a good guy."

"Yep." Logan gave him a cold glare. "Well? You gonna own up or do I have ta keep beating the truth outta you?"

"Get out the whips and chains," Dean snarked back. "Oh, wait. You're probably more of a leather guy. Huh? Big boy?" He beat a hasty retreat out the door, shirt and boots in hand.

"Don't think you can outrun me, kid!" Logan bellowed after him, stomping down the hall.

With a gleeful chuckle, Dean darted into his room. Logan was almost as much fun to taunt as Sam. Oh, crap! He needed to call Bobby. Cell still on the nightstand where he left it this morning, Dean sat on the side of the dormitory style bed. He flipped it open. Two missed calls. Well, they had to be from Bobby. Dean pressed the speed dial button to place the call, his mind drifting to what he needed for his shower. He typically used whatever the motel he stayed in had for soap and shampoo, but the Institute wouldn't stock that kind of stuff. Crap. Maybe he had one of those tiny bottles of shampoo in his duffle.

"'lo?" Bobby's rough grumble sounded good in his ear.

"Hey, Bobby. Checking in as ordered, sir!" Dean followed it up with a light chuckle. "Your idea worked great, by the way. I had those kids hanging on every word. It was kind of weird," he admitted.

"That's because you're used to people ignoring you," Bobby replied in a melancholy tone.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said before he really processed the words. What would make Bobby mention people ignoring him? Two missed calls. Ah, crap. "Dad called, didn't he?"

"Dean, I didn't say anything, but I think he's starting to investigate that place you're working for," Bobby said slowly. "He said you've worked for 'em before?"

"Yeah." Dean rubbed a hand over his head. "I met a, uh, member of the staff on my last hunt. They paid the doctor bills." There was no need to mention a mutant doctor healed him. Mostly. Curious about why he could even think about mutants while talking to Bobby, Dean tried mumbling the word under his breath. He could do it! Professor X must have taken off the whammy.

"What?" Bobby asked. "Dean, is everything all right?"

"Yeah, Bobby. Actually it's great." A loud pounding sounded on his door. Logan, threatening to kick his ass. He grinned at the noise. "Everything is just fine. I gotta go, but I'll call tomorrow. Later, Bobby."

Deciding it would be better to call Dad after dinner, without Logan beating down his door, Dean tossed his cell aside. He yanked open the door to reveal Logan with a towel over one arm and some fresh clothes clutched in the hand hovering in the air. "Ain't you ready yet?" he demanded, voice angry but Dean knew it was all a bluff.

"Nope. I need to find some shampoo." He lifted his duffel on to the bed.

Logan leaned against the doorframe looking horribly annoyed. "For a guy who knows how to fit in everywhere he goes, you sure are a pain in the ass."

"Noted." Dean turned his back to hide his smirk. The best way to get along with Logan was to be his equal, and that meant being equally annoying. Using both hands he dug around in his bag, reaching into the deepest recesses in search of a small plastic bottle. Both of his missing bottles of Holy Water came out, but no shampoo. Damn. Dean searched again, this time finding a tiny plastic tube with a little color in the bottom. Finally!

Bundle of mostly clean clothes in hand, he turned to Logan. "All right. Ready."

"What were you lookin' for?" Logan demanded.

Dean held up the tiny nearly empty bottle of shampoo. "Hope you got a place to wash clothes around here too."

"There's a store up the road where you can buy a whole bottle." Logan nodded at Dean's shampoo. "I hear they even fill it up."

"Motels provide it, and so does Bobby," Dean replied with a shrug. "I've never had to buy any before."

"Your class ain't until the afternoon, so you'll have plenty of time to go shopping." Logan gave him a hard glare. "And after you heal up, I'd love ta show you the training room."

Dean frowned over that. "I can handle training right now. They're only bruises."

Logan grumbled something else about kids, which Dean couldn't quite catch but it made him grin anyway. Yeah, this was damned close to being as much fun as hanging out with Sam.


	13. Ch 13: Trouble, Thy Name is Winchester

**Chapter 13: Trouble, Thy Name is Winchester**

Dean stretched out on the bed and forced his body into a state of relaxation before calling Dad. If he was tense, Dad could always hear it in his voice. Of course, the fact it was Dad making him tense never seemed to matter.

Scrubbing a hand down his face and preparing to lie through his teeth to his own father, Dean pressed the speed dial for Dad. It rang only once.

"Dean? Where the hell are you?" Dad demanded.

Geez, overreact much?

"Hey, Dad," he responded in a light tone. "What's going on?"

"Why weren't you answering your phone?" Dad snapped at him. Then, in a softer tone, "You had me worried, son."

Dad worried? About _him_? He wasn't even hurt! When did the world stop revolving and let him off?

"The battery was dead," he lied. "I forgot to charge it. What's so important? Did you find a hunt?" His mind raced for an excuse to delay until the end of the week.

"Maybe," Dad said slowly. "Son, how much do you know about this Xavier Institute?"

Well, Bobby had warned him.

"Not much." That wasn't a total lie. He knew the people here had been holding back, not telling him everything, but he also had the feeling that there wasn't anything malicious in it either. Dean had learned to trust his gut instincts a long time ago, they were always right.

"I don't suppose you can tell me about your last hunt?" Dad asked.

"Two wendigos," Dean said wearily. "I thought we'd already talked about this, Dad?"

"You know what I meant, Dean. Tell me about Logan," Dad insisted.

"He's a good guy," Dean replied, feeling defensive. "What? The only friend I'm allowed to have is Bobby?"

"Dean," Dad's voice was firm, he sounded like he was lecturing Sam, "you understand the lifestyle we lead. There isn't room for casual friends."

Well, okay, so Dad had a point there. Then again, it wasn't like anything could really hurt Logan, permanently, so why not? But he couldn't tell Dad that part, either.

"Dean?" Dad asked, his tone demanding an answer.

"I have to think it over," Dean replied stiffly. "I'll talk to you next week." He snapped his phone closed before Dad could protest. God, why did his family always have to be such a pain in the ass?

* * *

John yanked the phone away from his ear as if it had bitten him. What in the hell had gotten into Dean? Into Dean. Holy shit, had something taken control of his son? Could it be demonic?

Hastily, John scrambled to call Bobby. The line was busy. Growling under his breath about people who should be available when they're needed, he tried one of the other lines to the salvage yard.

"Sheriff's Department," Bobby answered, sounding every inch like some hick elected official.

"Bobby, we need to talk," John insisted.

"Winchester?" Bobby sounded downright pissed now. "What in the hell did you say to Dean? He's on the other line right now, rantin' and ravin' about you."

"He's on the phone with you? Bobby, see if you can find out where he is, right now. I'm afraid something is controlling him." John hedged on whether to tell Bobby his full theory.

"Controlling him? Hang on." He heard Bobby talking in the background before coming back to him. "All right, John. What the hell is wrong with you? Do you honestly believe that Dean is possessed just because he actually stood up to you? _**Finally**_?"

"Finally?" John parroted, stunned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, finally?"

"John, I think of you and your boys like family. You know that. So what I'm about to tell you comes from the heart." John rolled his eyes as he listened, hoping this wouldn't turn into what Dean liked to call a chick-flick moment. "You're an ass."

"I... What?" he demanded.

"John, I can not believe you had the nerve to tell Dean he couldn't make friends, without even bothering to meet the guy. Hell, I served with Logan's daddy in Korea. He's good people," Bobby said staunchly.

"So it was his father, huh?" John said sarcastically.

"Yeah. He couldn't remember his daddy's unit, but he knew for sure that his father served," Bobby replied. "Had to be him. Now did it ever occur to you to ask to meet Logan? I know Dean has offered to introduce you a few times. Who knows, you might actually not completely hate the guy."

"That's not the point, Bobby," he tried to argue.

"The point being what?" Bobby demanded harshly. "That you're too damned good at alienating your own damn family?"

John ground his teeth in frustration, mainly because Bobby was right and he would rather slit his own wrists than admit it. Only silence and the sounds of Bobby breathing hard came from the other end of the line. After taking several deep breaths, John hoped to control his voice if not his temper.

"Will Dean answer the phone for you?" he asked as calmly as he could muster.

"Maybe," Bobby said slowly, suspiciously. "Why?"

"Next time you talk to him, tell him I'd like to meet this Logan." John waited but Bobby wasn't answering. "Please," he added after a moment.

"I'll ask," Bobby replied gruffly, "but I won't make any promises. He's pretty damned upset, John. I've never heard Dean this angry, not even after one of your blow-outs with Sam. I think... He feels like you don't trust him."

John rolled his eyes heavenward, wondering if the angels could spare a few moments of their time to help him out of this stupid mess. Not trust Dean? That was like not trusting his right hand or one of his guns. Now people kissing up to and trying to undermine Dean's faith in him, those were the people who couldn't be tolerated.

"I hope you set him straight, Bobby," he said slowly as anger roiled hot in his gut.

"I was working on it when you called and interrupted," Bobby snapped. Oh, yeah, like he was supposed to be frigging psychic! "Maybe it'll be easier after he has some time to cool off. I'll try again when he calls tomorrow."

Now Bobby had ALL of John's attention. "Tomorrow?" he asked slowly. "What makes you think Dean's going to call you tomorrow?"

"Because I actually trust Dean's judgment." Bobby's tone was ice-cold and he said nothing more after that. John tried asking another question, but apparently Bobby had hung up. Yeah, this was about the way his month had been shaping up, right into the crapper.

Well, hell, as long as he wouldn't be sleeping tonight anyway, he might as well stake out this so-called institute and see if he can figure out a way in. The last ID Dean had made for them as federal marshals might at least get him inside the gate if not the front door, but he needed a better idea of what the place was first. It couldn't just be a school. A school wouldn't be interested in Dean. His oldest son had skated by in public school, barely managing to obtain a GED, unlike Sam with his straight A's or Adam in his honors program. No, the school must be a front for other activities if they were interested in Dean.

John was well aware of his oldest son's gray-area skills, such as shop-lifting, lock picking, blatant theft, creating false identifications, and identity theft with their credit card scams. Dean would be a real prize for any criminal organization. John could not allow that. Their work was plenty dangerous without adding in that element. Of course, if Dean had gravitated towards that element, it would be John's fault for having introduced his son to the skills in the first place.

Training his binoculars on the mansion across the street, he watched groups of kids head inside the mansion. It was nearly eleven, so the place must have an enforced lights-out rule. Good. If he had to break in late, that was invaluable information.

* * *

Logan was nearly asleep when he heard a loud thump followed by Dean cursing, "Son of a bitch!"

It was always somethin' with that kid. With a put upon sigh, he rolled out of bed. In the corridor, Logan knocked lightly on Dean's door. "Kid? Ya alright?"

More muffled grumbling came from inside the room before the door cracked open. "I didn't mean to wake you up," he said, his face rigid and unyielding. Logan couldn't recall having seen that expression on the kid's face before. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

The door began to close, so Logan put out a hand to stop it. "Hang on. What's going on?"

Dean shook his head, his jaw muscles working furiously under the skin. "Just...nothin'. It's nothin'. Don't worry about it."

"All right." Logan backed up, holding up his hands in a totally nonthreatening position. "If you say so, kid."

Dean gave him a tight nod before closing the door with a sharp snap in his face. Whoa. Note to self: do not piss Dean off.

* * *

After his encounter with an extremely upset Dean last night, the last thing Logan expected this morning was all rainbows and sunshine, but that's what he got. Dean sat at the teacher's table in the cafeteria swapping crude bodily function jokes with Kurt Wagner when he walked up. There was an empty spot next to Dean, so he sat there.

"Hey, Logan," he said amiably. "I was wondering when you planned on getting up today."

Logan shot him a stern glare. "Yeah, well, somethin' woke me up last night. Had a hard time goin' back to sleep."

"A little Jack usually works for me," Dean told him in a light voice.

"Gee, thanks," Logan replied sarcastically. "I'll try to remember that next time."

Kurt stood up in his chair to peer through the students in the cafeteria. "Jack? How does Jack help? You mean that Jack?" He pointed out a kid with dark hair seated against the far wall. "But I thought he had levitation powers."

Dean chuckled, his foul mood clearly gone. "You were saying there are even more instructors? How come I haven't met them all yet?"

Kurt plopped back down in his chair. "Some have been on assignment. One of the teams came in late last night."

Logan wondered if he needed to let Kurt know not to say more when Sean Cassidy joined them, sitting beside Kurt. "You must be the new instructor," he said in his Irish brogue as he set down his breakfast tray. Sean extended one hand to Dean. "Tis good to meet ya, Hunter. They call me Banshee."

Both of Dean's eyebrows rocketed up as he shook the outstretched hand. "Dude, don't you know a banshee is a girl?"

Logan had to choke back a burst of laughter. A banshee was a girl? Oh, that alone was so worth bringing Dean here.

"Ah, so ya know your folklore, do ya, sonny?" Sean said with a laugh. "Aye, twas rather difficult ta get used ta bein' called that, but it doesn't bother me no more. Tha name has grown on me."

"Plus he screams like a girl," Kurt added with a grin.

"Why ya little..." Kurt popped out, leaving behind a cloud of brimestone smoke and a loud laugh.

"Oh, dude!" Dean waved away the noxious smell. "He really needs to lay off the beans."

"One-a these days..." Sean sighed, digging into his breakfast.

Dean pushed what was still on his tray away. "Well, there goes my appetite."

"Sick?" Logan asked. "I didn't think nuthin' could come between you and food." But if he was pressed to admit it, the smell had thrown his appetite for eggs off too.

"So what's all this Urban Camouflage about?" Sean asked. "If ya don' mind me asking?"

Kurt chose that moment to pop back in his seat. Little guy had probably been listening in from under the table. "I am also curious." He tossed a grin at Sean. "I have never heard of such a thing."

Sean merely shook his head at Kurt, a look in his eyes promising this was not over. Kurt's grin widened, welcoming the challenge. Logan might not leave his room for a couple of days. Even without a shower at least his room wouldn't reek of brimstone.

Dean leaned back in his chair and Logan noticed the subtle shift of his shoulders, which Dean had also done before going into the restaurant to meet the professor and right before heading into the dining room where he met most of the senior staff. Next a soft smile came over his face.

"Let's see if I can explain. When you know you're different from other people you tend to stand out, even in a crowd, because you know you don't belong with them," Dean began.

Kurt's eyes widened. "You don't mean to tell me that I can fit in?"

Dean chuckled and shrugged. "What I mean is if you feel like a third wheel, it doesn't matter what you look like, you'll stand out. There are tricks to acting like you belong, so you don't look like the third wheel even if you feel like it."

Kurt's blue brow furrowed. "What is this third wheel?"

The smile dropped from Dean's face. "I think I'm explaining this wrong. Okay, let's say you're at a costume party where you don't know anyone. Now you know you're not in costume, but no one else does, so technically you should fit in, right?"

Kurt nodded and shrugged. "Yes, but I do not believe I would."

"Right," Dean said, pointing a finger at him. "That's my point. Here you are and really there's nothing to make you stand out, except for the way you're acting. I know how to act so people don't assume I'm different. Now, they might decide I'm obnoxious and throw me out for putting the moves on the host's wife, but I won't be thrown out because I crashed the party."

Sean sat stock still staring long and hard at Dean. He swallowed what was in his mouth. "Are ya tellin' us that you've gone ta a party where ya weren't invited and tried to, you know, with the host's wife?"

"Not tried." Dean grinned shamelessly. "She was hot."

Kurt's eyes bugged out. "Where is your class today?"

Dean laughed lightly. "We'll meet in the rec room, but I'm thinking about holding class outside, assuming the weather stays nice."

"Talk ta Storm," Logan suggested. "She can make sure of it."

"Really?" Now Dean's eyes widened. "Awesome. And speaking of hot..."

They all shook their heads at him.

"I wouldna try anythin', if I was you," Sean advised. "In Africa, she's considered a god-dess. Ya don't go chattin' up a god-dess."

Dean chewed his lower lip, clearly thinking it over.

"And she c'n toss lightning at your head," Logan informed him.

"Might be worth it," Dean mused. Then his twinkling eyes cut over to Logan and he knew the kid was joking. Thank God. He would hate to have to help clean up that kind of a mess.

* * *

The local heat ran John off from watching the Xavier Institute at about six this morning, but he was undeterred. The cops, Salem's finest, hadn't been exactly comfortable standing so close to the estate, either. John figured there was more going on around here than just rumors. Judging by the research he had been conducting in diners and bars in the area, the locals were genuinely worried about living so close to the institute.

Now John crouched in some bushes along the back of the grounds. Here there was a back entrance where the stone wall stopped and another wrought iron gate began. It was wider than the one in the front, like big vehicles or construction equipment needed access. He had a decent view of the back side of the institute, kids sitting and talking in small groups scattered under trees or out in the sun. John adjusted his binoculars to make a sweep of the grounds again, his mind churning through the possibilities of why some flaky organization would set up a school as a front.

A cluster of kids under a large oak caught his attention. John zoomed in on them, and dropped the binoculars. Scrambling for them, certain he had been wrong, John used shaking hands to raise them to his eyes. In front of the group of kids sat Dean. All of the kids, who were teenagers, seemed enthralled by whatever Dean was saying. Then blue legs appeared behind Dean. John shifted his focus back, to take in more of the crowd, and nearly dropped his equipment again. A blue furry monster stood behind his son! What in the hell had blue fur? All John could think of off the top of his head was the puppet from Sesame Street, but that didn't make a damn bit of sense.

He reached for the piece he kept in his back waistband, knowing a shot from this distance wouldn't have a prayer of hitting its target but it might buy Dean a little time to escape. Then he saw Dean motion to the ground beside him and the blue monster sat down. Gun still in hand, John watched the ensuing scene in utter disbelief. Now he noticed there was another blue creature mixed in with the kids, this one was much smaller with the definite appearance of a classically drawn demon complete with pointed tail. Good God! What was Dean doing? Had he lost his damned mind?

John set the gun down on the ground in favor of pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. Hastily he called Dean's number, hoping and praying his son would pick up. There was a possibility this was a shape-shifter. Through the binoculars he watched an exchange between Dean and one of the kids. He should've learned to read lips. John made a mental note to watch television with the sound off from now on, for practice.

The call rolled directly to voicemail, meaning Dean had his phone turned off. Dead battery his ass. Then he remembered Bobby had mentioned Dean would call. Now the only reason Dean ever had for calling someone everyday was if you made him. His son just wasn't the chatty type unless you had legs that went on for a week and a nice rack, which certainly didn't describe Bobby.

John dropped his gaze from the unreal scene out on the lawn long enough to pick Bobby's number out of his call list. While his phone connected, he returned his attention to his son sitting calmly surrounded by...things.

"Yeah?" Bobby answered gruffly.

"What is Dean up to?" John demanded harshly.

"And hello to you, too," came the snippy reply. "Why yes, it is a nice day."

"Damn it, Bobby! If you could see what I'm watching, you'd change your damn tune," John grated out while he shifted in an attempt to keep Dean in the center of his field of vision.

"What you're watchin'? And what would that be?" Bobby asked slowly, almost as if he were afraid of the answer. The bastard had been holding back.

"Dean," he said slowly, allowing the implication to sink in. If Bobby really was in on this, the slimy bastard would know exactly where he was.

"Now John, it's probably not what you're thinkin'..." Bobby began when John cut him off.

"What I'm thinking? Oh, Bobby, I don't think you have a clue what I'm thinking." He tried some deep breathing to keep his temper under control. Shouting right now would give away his position. With the way his luck had been running lately, this place had armed guards with shoot first and don't think attitudes.

Had he lost his son? Had these creatures taken Dean from him? Brainwashed. They must have brainwashed him.

"The head of that institute was real impressed by Dean," Bobby stated in an halting voice.

"I'm sure," John grunted, zooming in on Dean's face again.

"Well, he's just workin' for 'em. Part-time."

John froze, every muscle in his body rigid with apprehension and...fear? Yes. Fear. Fear of losing the only family he had left. "Doing what?" he demanded.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Uh, well, I kinda think you need to talk to Dean about that."

"Now that's a plan," he replied in agreement before hanging up on Bobby.

John checked his position again. It was the weakest point in the perimeter, where the camera angles had been knocked out of whack and never readjusted, most likely caused by a storm. Tonight, after lights-out, John planned to break in and find his son. Dean would be coming with him if he had to knock his boy out and carry him.


	14. Chapter 14: The Hard Way

The logins were down yesterday. Reviews and document uploads are still down (but I know a couple of tricks). Since I left the last chapter kind of hanging, and I know there are those of you who go through withdrawal when postings are down, I decided to go ahead and post the next chapter. I'll respond to reviews when they are up again. Please don't worry about not being able to review this chapter, just leave a review next time if you want.

**Chapter 14: The Hard W****ay**

"He said what?" Dean demanded. "Bobby, what were Dad's exact words?"

"Now that's a plan. Any idea what he might've meant?" Bobby asked.

Dean lowered his face into his palm. "Yeah. I have an idea." He sighed heavily. At least it was still light out, so he might have time to head Dad off before his father tried storming the castle. Frigging great. He gets one freaking lucky break, in his whole god-forsaken life, and Dad was trying to screw it up. "Bobby, I need to go. Dad's going to do something stupid if I don't stop him. If you don't hear from me tomorrow, call the local cops and see if we're in jail."

"Jail?" But Dean cut him off slamming his cell closed. It just couldn't be easy, could it?

Dean headed out the door, car keys in hand. Logan spotted him in the hall rushing towards the garage.

"Kid!" Logan jogged to catch up with him. "In a hurry?"

"Yeah. Gotta find someone," he said, sounding a bit more worried than he had intended.

"Want some company?" Logan asked. "I'm a great tracker."

Dean paused at the entrance to the underground tunnel which led to his car. "I need to do this alone, Logan. It's my dad."

Logan nodded stiffly, like he didn't quite understand, but he backed off. Now that he had a little breathing room, Dean rushed to the car. He jumped in and hit the key, the garage doors automatically opening at the sound of an engine. Man, that was too cool.

He started with the bars close to the institute, hitting paydirt about an hour later. The dark, smoky bar reeked of stale beer and his boots stuck to the floor. The regulars weren't anything to write home about, either. Dad sat hunched over in a corner booth facing the door with a bottle of Jack in one hand and a shot glass in the other. Yeah, this was going to be fun.

Dean slid into the booth across from his father, unsure how to start or even if he should. The old busted springs in the seat poked him in the ass.

"They just let you come and go, huh?" Dad asked, not bothering to mask his evident anger. "Just like that?" The slur in his voice gave away how long he had been sitting here.

Dean nodded silently.

Dad poured another shot. The level in the bottle was about halfway down. If Dean had to guess, Dad started with a new bottle. Frigging great. This would be about as much fun as bathing a tiger. And about as safe.

"What part of the zoo are you?" Dad demanded. "An exhibit or one-a the keepers?"

Dean flinched at the implication. Dad must've spotted him outdoors today. He sighed deeply as he pulled his phone out of his pocket to call the professor. As much as he wanted to explain things to Dad, he couldn't betray their confidence in him, not without at least a warning.

"Hunter?" Xavier's voice answered. "I understand there's a problem?" Kind of odd for the professor to answer the phone, but Dean wasn't going to question when he had a little good fortune.

"Yeah. I need you to talk to my dad," Dean told him.

"Ah, yes, your father. I understand. Unfortunately." Even the professor's sighs sounded cultured. "Very well, but this is a school, Hunter. I do not want him here inebriated."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied, taking the Jack away from his father. "We might not be there until morning."

"Do what you must," he told Dean. "I'll be expecting you no later than ten. After that, I fully intend to send Logan out looking for you."

Dean chuckled at the offer. "Don't worry about me, Professor. I can handle Dad."

The second the words hit the air, Dean knew they were a mistake. A cold chill crept up his spine, chest muscles contracting and stomach twisting painfully as his gaze snapped to Dad, fearing the reaction. Dad's bloodshot eyes leveled on him, features hardening and a nasty scowl appearing.

"Uh, gotta go." Dean snapped the phone closed and wondered how long it would take for his father to lash out. He had it coming after a comment like that. Dad's anger was literally palatable, a nasty bitter taste in the back of his throat. When he swallowed it wouldn't go away.

"Want to step outside?" he asked softly. "I could use a good ass-kicking."

Dad's smoldering eyes shifted to the bottle resting beside Dean on the seat.

"I'll break it," Dean threatened in the same soft tone.

"I'll buy another one," Dad said in a low growl Dean could literally feel vibrate through him.

"Try it," he replied steadily, "and we'll both wind up in jail." Dean leaned on the table with his forearms and maintained eye contact. "You know I can do it."

Dad gave a drunken snort and leaned back. His phone went off. He pulled it out to check caller i.d. and snorted again. "Nobody I wanna talk ta." He glared across the table. "Ready for that ass-kicking?"

"Yes, sir." Dean stood up, resting the half-empty whiskey bottle against the wall. Shame to let good whiskey go to waste, but it was that or risk Dad polishing it off. He nervously rolled his shoulders as one foot scuffed side to side along the floor, hoping the noise would distract Dad from the bottle. Dad made a funny face and looked around like he forgot something before he brushed past heading for the door. With a sigh of relief, Dean followed. Maybe they wouldn't have to spend an angry, tense night in the drunk tank. Never a fun outing.

When Dean stepped outside he tried to shake off his tension, to force himself to feel more relaxed so he could deal. When he was a kid and had to start a new school right in the middle of the semester, well after all the social patterns had been set, he had learned how to go on the offensive and force people to accept his presence, even it had only been for a week. Now he would have to force Dad to accept his job and the institute. The fact he felt so determined over a job he'd only done for two days was beyond strange. It was almost like he felt at home there.

Outside Dean stood by Dad's truck and closed his eyes, readying for the blow. At least if Dad hit him, it would release that pent-up anger and might generate some regret for striking his own son. Dean could use a little regret in Dad, he could work with that. When he felt nothing after several moments, Dean cracked open one eye.

Dad stood two feet away. Glaring. Jesus, taking a hit would be better than this.

"You want me to hit you, don't you?" Dad said in a tone that caused a return of the chill down his spine. "You think it'll make me vulnerable. Make me give in, right?" Dad was a big guy. He towered over Dean, the larger frame and height impressive even to him. "I've seen you do that before." One arm swung out, but not to hit him. It waved down the street. "Is that what you're doing? Teaching those things how to manipulate us?"

"They're not things," he replied slowly, defensively. "They're people." And if Dad had bothered to meet even one of them before judging them all, they might not be standing in a bar parking lot in the middle of the afternoon having this stupid stand-off.

"I saw you, Dean!" Dad shouted. His voice was loud in the empty parking lot, surrounded only by a few cars. "Two of 'em were fucking blue!"

"One of them is thinking about purple highlights," Dean joked.

Dad's heavy gaze bored into him. Disappointment. Fear. Losing everything. Alone. Dean gasped, clutching at his chest as the overpowering emotions enveloped him. For the second time in two days he couldn't breathe, his muscles contracting painfully. He could have sworn he heard his name as he fell, gravel sharp knife-like pinpoints cutting into his knees.

* * *

John felt utter despair realizing Dean was not backing down, that he had already lost to the monsters, when his son's eyes rolled back into his head. Stunned, John could only watch as his son, his normally sturdy and unbelievably hardy boy, dropped to his knees with one hand on his chest. John rushed forward, catching the falling body before Dean landed face first on the asphalt. He pressed an ear to his son's chest, horrified when he realized Dean was not breathing.

What did they do? What had those freaks done to him?

"Dean!" he heard his own voice shouting his son's name, over and over. Finally there were people standing around and the sound of sirens. John shook him hard, thinking if he could get through Dean would start breathing again. His son had to be all right! He had to be! John would even deal with Dean cohorting with freaking unnatural creatures just so long as he was all right.

"No pulse!" a stranger's voice shouted. "We'll have to shock him. Sir, get back!"

No pulse. That meant Dean's heart wasn't beating. No breathing and no pulse equaled...

"NO!" John screamed, lunging for his son. Several arms pulled him away, out of physical contact. John fought the obstructions, attempting to claw and beat his way to his son. His first-born. An image of Dean the day his child had been born, the first day he had been a father, flashed before his eyes. Desperately John reached out, trying to fight his way past the obstructions, when Dean sat up with a huge gasp. His eyes blinked slowly as if he had just woken from a deep sleep. He frowned at the man kneeling next to him with the shocker paddles.

"Dude, what do you think you're doing?" Dean asked. He held out a hand. "Don't just stand there, help me up."

The man blinked slowly before standing and hauling Dean to his feet. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "But..." He frowned and looked around in a daze. "Damn it, Jake! I told you we can't stop for drinks during a shift." He waved the other paramedic towards the ambulance. "Come on!"

The crowd filtered away quickly, leaving him and Dean there. John wanted to reach out and touch him, convinced this was all an illusion. Or was he just that drunk? Yeah, he had waaaaay too much to drink.

"Glad you're here," John grunted, pulling his keys out of his pocket and holding them out. "Got a room up the road a ways."

Dean accepted the keys. "We'll come back for the truck in the morning," he promised and John nodded.

It wasn't the first time his son had tracked him down stinking drunk in a bar. John held open an arm wanting his hug, needing to feel a solid body against him to prove this wasn't a horrible dream or waking nightmare. Dean leaned into him with the kind of hug he expected and yet had never deserved. John hugged him back, relieved that Dean seemed perfectly fine. His hands ran over Dean's chest checking for injuries while those expressive green eyes rolled, before allowing himself to be driven back.

His son drove them to the room he had rented, walked him inside and tucked him into bed. Eyelids far too heavy to hold open, John welcomed the dark bliss of sleep.

Parking lot. Dean on the ground. Not moving. Glassy eyes open and blank.

Not breathing. No pulse.

Still.

Gone.

John woke with a deep gasp, his heart pounding a harsh staccato beat in his chest. His eyes darted around not recognizing his surroundings, knowing he should be in a parking lot. This was a motel room. How did he get here? John jumped out of bed only now noticing he was not alone. There was a dark lump in the other bed. He rushed over hoping against hope it had been just a dream, that it hadn't happened.

He grabbed the lump and it spun, one arm swinging at him. Dean's bright green eyes flashed open and the fist diverted.

"Damn it, Dad!" he breathed, collapsing back on the bed. "Don't do that! You scared the crap out of me."

"Dean?" John sat on the edge of the bed, his heart still pounding. "Did, uh, anything happen? Last night?"

Dean frowned at him. "You mean other than you getting stinkin' drunk? Again?" He snorted with a grin. "Nah. Maybe you had a bad dream."

John could not stay his hand, he had to touch, to feel that his son was really here. The terror from his dream, the horror of losing Dean, had a tight hold on his heart with an ice-cold grip. He ran his fingers through that short cropped hair while Dean gave him the oddest look.

"Shut up," John snapped too harshly, which he regretted instantly. "Just..." He swallowed hard, the terror still too real. John petted his son again as if he were three instead of twenty-three. "I do love you, you know."

Dean's eyebrows drew together. "Dad? Are you feeling all right?"

"No," John admitted. For some reason he now felt safe enough to spill his guts, to actually have one of those chick-flick moments he and Dean both would normally gnaw a leg off to avoid. "I haven't in a while." John settled in beside his son, forcing him to scoot over to make room. "Dean, I know I can be... Bobby called me an ass."

Now Dean sat up with a chuckle. "Sounds like him."

"Son, I haven't felt right since Sam left. And yes, I know that's my fault, I do. But I don't know how to fix it." He rested one hand on Dean's thigh, part of him convinced his son was still on the ground, dead outside of some damn bar. "I love both of you, I always have and I always will." He lifted his hand to slap Dean lightly in the side of the head. "No more sneaking around or I will kick your ass, you punk."

Dean's grin was a welcome sight. "Bobby's wrong, you know. You're not a complete ass."

John joined in the light chuckle, pulling Dean into the kind of hug he had been meaning to give his oldest for a few months now. He really did enjoy that smart-ass mouth on his kid. Why was he in the bad habit of forgetting how awesome Dean could be? "So am I going to meet this boss of yours?" he whispered into his son's ear.

Dean shoved him away, still grinning. "After the sun comes up, Dad. Geez." He stifled a wide yawn. "Dude, I'm wiped. You mind?"

"Oh, uh, no," John stammered, standing. "Go ahead. But Dean?" He waited for his son's eyes to open again. "I'm going to be here when you wake up."

Dean gave him an absent nod before rolling over and presenting his back, and John couldn't think of a higher compliment. He sat on his own bed watching over his sleeping child and wondering if he was right, if this institute really was some kind of horrible place, how the hell he could extricate his son from it. But for now John was willing to play along, to try to see what Dean saw in it, because losing his son would destroy him and now he knew it. He might have doubts about this so-called school, but he had no doubts about Dean.

* * *

"Dean? Dean!" A hand shook his shoulder. Dean shoved it away, burying himself deeper under the covers, but it came back. "Dude, it's almost lunchtime."

Lunchtime? A nagging worry pestered his not-awake mind. "So?" he grunted into his pillow.

"Dean, I thought you were taking me to see your, uh, job?"

Holy crap! Lunchtime! Dean shot up in bed, eyes open wide. He felt around but couldn't find his phone. "Dad! Where's my cell? Hurry!" he gasped, searching frantically for it.

"Right here." Dad picked it up off of the floor, where it must've dropped out of his jeans last night, and slapped it in his hand.

Dean went to his call list, jabbing at the call button when he had the Institute's number selected. He ran a hand anxiously over his head while he waited for someone to pick up.

"What time is it?" he demanded.

Dad checked his watch. "Eleven-thirty. Did we miss it?"

Dean groaned, dropping his head. Logan was going to be so pissed for wasting his time. "Crap," he grunted.

"Xavier Institute," a chipper female voice answered.

"I need to talk to the Professor," Dean told her.

"Name?" she asked.

He shot a guilty look at Dad between the fingers covering his face. "Hunter."

"Oh!" she gasped. "One moment."

Dean cringed at the reaction. Two freaking days working there and he had already started causing problems. Logan would really kick his ass now.

"Dean! Are you all right?" Professor X demanded. "What happened?"

"Uh, I guess I overslept," Dean replied sheepishly.

"Overslept?" he asked, dumbfounded. "Really? Dean, tell me for certain that your father has not done anything...rash."

"Well, there were a couple of hugs, and I think he tried to pat my head like a dog but maybe I was drunk and imagined that part," Dean replied. He noticed Dad give him an odd look, although he couldn't imagine why. They had both had too much to drink last night, otherwise he wouldn't have this freaking hangover. If only he could remember more than a few blurry moments.

"Dean, I demand you tell me your location this instant," Professor X commanded. It wasn't a request, it was clearly a demand. "I've actually turned Logan loose in this town to look for you. Do you have any idea the kinds of things he does in this situation?"

"Yeah, I do. That's how we met, remember?" Dean replied heavily. He looked to Dad and held out his phone. "This is my boss. He wants to know where we are."

Dad frowned as he took the phone. "We're in room one-fourteen of the It's Open Motel." Dean looked at Dad in disbelief over the name but the man only shrugged at him. "Well, if I can roll him out of bed, we could be up there in about fifteen minutes. No promises on how presentable my son will look, though." Dad listened for a moment. "All right, in an hour. … I'm looking forward to it." Dad handed back his phone.

"We have an hour?" Dean asked as his head throbbed painfully. "Dad? How much did I have to drink last night? It's all this huge blur."

"Nothing," Dad said slowly. "Shower. Now. You're going to look presentable when we arrive even if I have to go steal some fresh clothes."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I have some emergency clothes in the trunk." He reached into his pocket for the keys.

Dad's hand appeared in his face. Dean gave him an inquiring look. "I said shower," he repeated, motioning for the keys with his hand. "I'll find your clothes."

"Yes, sir." Dean slapped the keys in Dad's hand, relieved he wouldn't have to walk all the way outside. God, if his head felt any worse, his eyeballs would start to bleed. The snap of the door closing was like a ricocheting blast inside his skull. Maybe a shower would help. Dean stumbled from his bed to the tiny bathroom, grateful for the close quarters because it meant he always had a surface to hang onto. His stomach protested violently over standing, so Dean turned on the water for the tub and sat down. He scrubbed over his body with a washcloth, but the hair was too much trouble. Dean decided to steal the tiny shampoo bottle to use later. How could he not have had anything to drink last night and feel this bad today? Life sucked.


	15. Chapter 15: Back To School

**Chapter 15: Back To School**

Logan stormed up to the room Professor X said Dean and his father were in. Despite the fact he had spoken to Dean directly, the Professor sounded concerned like maybe his lowlife father had done something to him. Logan knocked loudly on the door, ready to keep pounding until somebody opened it or it broke.

It swung back maybe a foot, the open space filled by a large man with messy dark hair and the piercing gaze he had seen Dean use once. "Yeah?" the man demanded in a deep voice full of command authority.

"I'm lookin' for Winchester," Logan stated as he scented the air. The smell of Dean's leather jacket was strong. "He is here?" Of course, it wasn't really a question of if Dean was here, it was more a question of if Logan would be invited or have to fight his way in.

"Dad, that's Logan. Better let him in," Dean's voice came from inside the room but it lacked its usual strength.

The large man stood aside and opened the door wider, revealing Dean sitting on one of the beds. His face was pale and he looked kind of shaky.

"Kid, are ya all right? You look like crap." Logan resisted the urge to go check on the kid, knowing it wouldn't be appreciated.

"Thanks." Dean nodded at his father. "You sound like Dad."

"I was trying to convince him to postpone going to the institute until tomorrow," Mister Winchester stated with a frown. "I think he should stay in bed."

"The Professor was real worried when ya didn't show up by ten," Logan told them. "Better not keep him waitin' again. Besides, we got all kinds of doctors up there."

Winchester's dark, heavy gaze snapped to him. "Would they check him out? Are they any good?" Logan nodded in reply.

"All right son, you heard him. Let's go." Dean's father hauled him up and wrapped an arm around his waist to support him.

"Da-a-a-ad..." Dean whined, and the sound was so un-Dean-like it made Logan cringe.

"Shut up," Mister Winchester snapped as he motioned to the door with his head. "I'll feel better after you see a doctor. Any doctor."

Logan frowned over the comment but he said nothing. Just because Dean didn't have any hang-ups about mutants didn't mean his father felt the same way. Better to ride it out and not force the issue, assuming the father even knew. Well, in an hour he'd know for sure what the hell was goin' on.

* * *

Dean leaned against the passenger door, his head propped against the window. His son looked even worse outside in the sunlight, so damned pale even his freckles had faded. It was enough to make John forget about his raging hangover. He followed this Logan character riding a motorcycle up to the back entrance of the Institute. The long gate slid aside to allow them entrance. The drive turned sharply and dipped down to an underground garage. Logan hopped off the bike to show him where to park.

When the engine was off, John turned to say something to Dean, but his son was asleep again. Really worried now, John hurried around the front of the car to gently open the passenger door. He caught his son before Dean could fall out. It wasn't like Dean to sleep this hard, he must be really sick. These doctors had better be damned good, because his son deserved the best. The absolute best.

Dean was all dead weight in his arms, arms and legs hanging loosely and his head lolling against John's bicep with each step. Logan kept giving him worried looks in the tunnel and Dean slipped enough times to force John to rethink this.

"Hang on," he said gruffly. To hell with how it would look, he decided. John stood Dean up against a wall and held him there until he could move his shoulder into position. Then using a controlled fall, he caught his son in the stomach with his shoulder and stood back up. Now Dean hung over his shoulder, ass in the air and legs held firmly behind the knees by his arms. "Okay, let's go."

Logan shook his head once, like he couldn't believe any of this was happening, before leading them through these tunnels. There were a lot of twists and turns, so many John wasn't positive he would be able to find his way back unassisted. The tunnel stopped at a group of doors. When Logan opened one, it was all John could do not to gasp in shock.

Cutting edge, state-of-the-art equipment lined the walls. The hospital beds looked like they had been copied from Star Trek, complete with monitors built into panels above the patient's head. He wished Dean were awake to see this.

"Right there." Logan motioned to one of the empty beds. John gently lowered Dean into the bed. When he looked around, Logan wasn't in the room. John found a chair and pulled it up beside his son's bed.

Logan returned with the same blue monster he had seen sitting next to Dean outside on the lawn yesterday.

"Oh, dear," the monster said in a well-educated voice. "What has befallen our Hunter?" In a smooth move, the monster landed next to Dean's bed. This, uh, thing knew Dean was a hunter?

The monster turned on the panel above Dean's head. Lights flickered and flashed and the monster frowned at the readings. "Interesting." He turned to regard John. "Who is this?"

"Hunter's father," Logan said rather stiffly, as if he had caused Dean's current condition.

"Really?" The blue monster looked him over carefully. "I would most enjoy discussing your son's talents and how he came by them. But perhaps not until we have discovered the cause for this." He hunched over Dean and used a blue hand to lift each of Dean's eyelids. "Most curious."

"Any idea, Hank?" Logan asked from behind them.

The blue monster sighed deeply. "If I did not know better I would swear it was extreme exhaustion, however Hunter showed no signs of it yesterday." His head turned to regard Logan. "I would suggest canceling Hunter's class today. Assuming he wakes in time, he will be in no condition to teach. I suspect I may be restricting our newest instructor to bed rest for the rest of the week."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll take care of it." Logan left the room.

"What, uh, class?" John asked hesitantly.

The blue monster's face had an almost feline look, and it frowned at him. "Perhaps that is a topic best discussed with your son or Professor Xavier. For now, I would like to take some blood samples for testing."

John nodded, one hand snaking out to grasp Dean's forearm. Unfortunately, even Dean's warm skin against his palm did nothing to allay his mounting fears.

* * *

Worry, worry, worry, worry. He was so damned tired, though, and really didn't feel like dealing with that much worry. Dean shifted down into the covers wanting a safe haven from the emotions battering at him.

"Dean?" Dad's voice and the squeeze of a strong, warm hand on his arm had him opening his eyes. Dad's face hovered just above his, face creased in an anxious frown. "Son? Can you hear me?"

Well, that figured. Nobody could worry like Dad. Dean grunted in reply, not wanting to waste effort in speaking. If he could take some of the worry out of Dad's face, maybe he could go back to sleep.

"He's awake!" Dad called out.

Beast's big furry head peering down at him was next. Wait a minute. Where the hell was he? Despite the fact it felt like it weighed about two tons, he turned his head from side to side. Yeah, that was no help. Either he was in some sci-fi flick or Dad had taken him someplace new, but how would Dad know Beast?

"Hunter," Beast said, "how do you feel? Does anything hurt?"

"Everything," Dean grunted. His whole damn body felt like he had been run over by a semi. "Dad, what happened? Were we jumped?"

A funny look came over Dad's face, a pinched expression Dean couldn't recall having seen before. "Check his knees, Doc. See if it looks like he fell."

Dean started to chuckle, until he realized Dad was serious. He opened his mouth to protest, but the sharp rebuking look Dad gave him caused anything he had to say to wilt and dry up in his mouth. His jeans were pushed up until his knees were uncovered.

"Yes, these injuries would be consistent with falling to his knees. Why?" Beast asked, studying Dad curiously.

"Because he fell last night," Dad said slowly, a distant look in his eyes. "He had a hand on his chest and he stopped breathing." There was a pause while Dad breathed heavily, collecting himself, then he continued in a voice so soft it could barely be heard. "I-I think his heart stopped."

Dean snorted at that. His heart stopped. Right. As if.

Beast scratched behind one ear as he looked Dean over again. "In that case, I shall check his cardiac and pulmonary functions for signs of stress." He smiled with those wicked sharp teeth. "Hunter, I had no idea when you arrived that you would be so much trouble. You're nearly as bad as Logan."

"Thanks." Dean rolled his eyes at Dad.

"I don't know Logan well yet, but I'd be willing to bet Dean's worse," Dad stated in a stern voice.

Beast chuckled amiably while Dean rolled his eyes again. "Everybody's a freaking comedian."

* * *

Normally when a class was canceled the kids shouted for joy, applauded and couldn't leave fast enough to go do anythin' else. But Dean's class. Man. Even Kitty looked disappointed. Offering to show them some upper level hand combat moves didn't help.

"I have an idea," Bobby Drake announced, standing up in front of the others. "Why don't we continue Professor Hunter's discussion from yesterday? About clothes? Or, uh..."

"Activities!" Kitty chimed in. "Like holding a drink during a party."

"Right!" Bobby added enthusiastically. "Let's see how many new things we can come up with to show the professor when he comes back." He rushed to open his bookbag and take out a spiral notebook and pen. "Okay, holding a drink during a party, even if you're not actually drinking it. Next?"

Logan leaned against the far wall to watch, figuring there needed to be some kind of adult supervision here. Story of his life: lookin' after other people's kids.

When the kids ran out of stuff to add to their list, Bobby pulled the pages out of his notebook and handed them over. "Logan, we know you're friends with Professor Hunter. Can you give this to him, so he knows we didn't blow off his class just because he wasn't here?"

Logan accepted the paper. "Since when do you care what one-a the instructors thinks?"

Bobby grinned and shook his head, like he didn't have a real answer for that. Logan watched the other kids file out of the rec room, still tossing ideas around about how they could take a field trip to the mall and try some of Dean's lessons out.

"_Professor_ Hunter," he grumbled, staring down at the list in his hand. "I got ta start takin' notes."

* * *

"But what could have caused it?" Charles Xavier pressed after listening to Hank's report on Dean's condition. "It makes no sense, Hank."

"I know, Professor," Hank replied calmly. "I can find no evidence of any stress on Hunter's pulmonary or cardiac systems. With the exception of extreme exhaustion and mild dehydration, he is in perfect health."

"Is there a cause for the dehydration?" Xavier asked.

"Hunter claimed he had been drinking heavily last night, but again there is no medical evidence of it. His father insists _he_ was the one consuming strong alcohol," Hank perched on the end of his office couch, which had been recently reinforced to accommodate Hank's weight.

"An empath?" he asked hopefully. "Perhaps Hunter acquired the dehydration and hangover from his father?"

"You are basing this theory on the fact Hunter carries the mutant gene," Hank replied thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling and scratching slowly under his chin. "Perhaps. We would need to test him, of course. Now, what would be a reliable test for an empath? Because if it is not a new ability, then he may have learned how to screen out the emotions of casual bystanders already. That would make the test more difficult."

"Yes," Xavier replied slowly. "I see your point. We would require individuals Hunter is around regularly. His father, obviously, would be an excellent choice, but for it to be a true test we need at least one other person close to him and a complete stranger."

"I would recommend approaching Logan," Hank suggested. "I realize they met recently, but they behave as if they have known each other for years. If Hunter is indeed an empath, he would have certainly formed some type of emotional bond with Logan."

"Agreed." Xavier rubbed his hands together in his excitement over the potential of having discovered a new mutant. Dean's ability to quite literally fit in anywhere he went despite being dressed inappropriately for the occasion, such as in the restaurant, had always been suspect in his mind. Being an empath would give him the advantage of knowing when one of his attempts to 'blend' was not working, so he could change it before being discovered. "Now, the perfect stranger. Hunter has not yet been introduced to the library staff. Perhaps The Librarian would consent to help us?"

One of Hank's furry eyebrows arched. "The Librarian, Professor?"

"Indeed. You see, Hunter has an eye for the ladies, as it were. Considering The Librarian's, ah, non-literary attributes, he would undoubtedly use his ability in an attempt to... What is the correct phrase?"

"Pick her up?" Hank suggested.

"Exactly." Xavier smiled broadly. "And then we would have proof."

Hank leaped off the end of the sofa towards the door. He paused in opening it, turning his head to speak over his shoulder. "Professor, did you hear about his class today?"

Xavier shook his head. "I thought you ordered it canceled?"

"Logan tried, but the students insisted on holding class even with their instructor absent. I understand they made a list along with a series of requests for off-campus outings." Hank chuckled. "Even if he does not prove to have mutant abilities, Hunter has certainly made a colorful addition to the school."

"Indeed," Xavier muttered as Hank slipped out the open door. He frowned and rubbed at his chin. "Perhaps too colorful. I may need to consult with Cerebro."

* * *

Logan headed towards the Infirmary, the list from the Urban Camouflage class in his pocket. He pushed open the door to see Dean with the bed angled up so he could sit and a grin on his face. His father sat in a chair beside the bed. Since he could still smell that stupid leather jacket and it wasn't anywhere in sight, he had to assume it had belonged to Dean's father first and the scent had stuck. As far as Logan knew, Mister Winchester hadn't moved from that spot since they arrived.

"You ain't gonna believe this, kid," Logan said, interrupting whatever they had been discussing. He pulled the paper out of his pocket. "Your class insisted on meetin' today anyway. They made a list."

"Class?" Mister Winchester asked. "Son, you still haven't told me what you're doing here."

Dean held out a hand for the paper. "Really? When I was their age, I freaking prayed for my teachers not to show up. Lemme see."

Logan handed the list over while avoiding looking Dean's father in the eye. He had assumed from the way the man behaved over the phone that he was a major jackass. After the way he had carried Dean in and refused to leave his son's side, Logan decided he might need to reevaluate the older Winchester. The man might still be a major jackass, but it was pretty clear he at least cared. Dean seemed to be reveling in all of his father's attention, which made Logan wonder how much of that attention the kid usually saw.

"Fitting in," Dean said quickly to his father as his eyes darted down to skim over the paper. "Hey, they have a few good ones in here." He tapped the page. "I think I was about twenty before I figured this one out." After he shuffled to bring the second page on top, his eyes widened. "They want field trips?" Dean's hazel-green eyes sought out Logan. "Can I do that?"

Logan shrugged, picking a wall to lean against. His keen hearing picked up the soft whirr of Xavier's custom wheelchair. "Now that'd be up to the Professor."

"Indeed." Logan turned his head to watch the Professor roll into the room. "Hunter, you gave us quite a scare today. I do not care for staff members who cause too much trouble."

Dean swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably in the bed while his father glared back defensively.

"Fortunately, Logan here preceded you joining our staff," the Professor said with a grin. "You are quite tame by comparison."

"Gee, thanks," Logan said sarcastically.

The Professor chuckled amiably while Mister Winchester's glare faded and Dean returned the grin.

"For now, shall we discuss school policy regarding student field trips?" Xavier's chair pulled up on the empty side of Dean's bed. "There are a few restrictions."


	16. Chapter 16: Changing Times

A/N: Just a quick note here - I have not been sticking strictly to the XMen film storylines. I'm afraid I've been mixing media, taking what I like from the films, comics and cartoons. Sorry for the confusion this has caused. (I didn't really realize I had been doing it until several reviewers pointed it out.) In everything except the movies Logan had a tight fatherly or big-brotherly bond with Kitty, not Rogue.

**Chapter 16: Changing Times**

After sleeping damn near all day yesterday and last night, Dean woke feeling refreshed and more like normal. It was impossible to tell the time in the Infirmary since it didn't have any windows. Dean pushed up to see if the monitor above his head had a clock. Surely it needed one? Yeah, there it was: 6 am.

He rubbed his hands over his face before pushing himself out of bed. The IV attached to one arm would be a problem if it hadn't been on a rolling stand. Dad slept in a chair beside the bed. This had been the longest Dad had hung around him all in one shot since Sam left for school. He felt unable to help the smile forcing its way on his face thinking about how much Dad must care to sleep in a chair right by his bed instead of stretching out a few feet further away in the other patient bed, which was empty. Dean pushed the pole on wheels, long thin tube stretching down from the clear bag to his arm, into the small bathroom.

His horrible headache, which had felt more like a hangover, was gone. When he looked in the mirror he thought he might still be a little pale, but no one other than Dad should notice. After relieving his aching bladder, which took damn near forever, Dean stepped back out into the Infirmary.

Dad was awake and staring at him.

"Hey," Dean said softly, pushing his pole back to the bed.

"Hey yourself," Dad said sternly. "Do you really think you need to be up? You're still pale."

Dean grinned at his father. He noticed! "But I feel fine. Honest."

Dad grunted and motioned to the bed with one hand. "We'll see what your doctor has to say about it."

"Do I hear my name?" Beast asked, stepping inside. He stopped by Dean, who was still standing. "Well, you seem much better today, Hunter. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Dean replied with a shrug as he sat on the bed.

He heard Dad grunt again. "He always says that, Doc. Better check him over."

So Dean allowed himself to be poked and prodded, bright lights shined in his eyes, and his tongue depressed and checked. When Beast finally finished, he relaxed back into the bed with a sigh of relief.

"So? Do I pass?" Dean demanded. "Because if somebody doesn't remove this IV soon, I'll do it myself."

"Well, he sounds normal," Dad said.

"It is no longer necessary," Beast replied. "However, I was wondering about the bruising on your torso."

Dean shrugged. "Happened on the job. No big deal."

"Hey Beast," Logan's voice preceded the sharp crack of the door slamming shut. "So how's the patient? Bein' a pain in the ass, as usual?"

"Like you'd be a good judge of that," Dean interrupted. Suddenly he felt very comfortable here, as if he knew he was surrounded by people who genuinely liked him. It was a good feeling. Too bad it couldn't last, things like that never could.

"I am," Logan stated defiantly, shooting him a hard look. "Some of us were bein' pains in the ass long before you were born."

Dean chuckled at that, having no good comeback and feeling far too comfortable and settled to try.

"Actually, I believe the saying is, it takes one to know one," Beast amended. "And in regards to your query, there are no signs of dehydration and his color is much better this morning. Perhaps still a little pale?" This was directed at Dad.

Dad studied him a moment before nodding in agreement. "Yeah, he's still pale."

Beast locked gazes with him. "As long as you promise to remain on the institute grounds, and take it easy today, I will allow you to conduct class. But only because..." He paused dramatically. "I am anxious to hear the next lesson."

Dean had to laugh at that, awash in comforting and caring emotions. "Then I'd better go make some notes. Are you taking this stupid thing out of my arm or what?"

Beast tsk-ed as he moved closer. "Such impatience. I would think, with a name like Hunter, you would have learned the value of patience by now."

"Actually," Dad said in a firm voice as Beast prepared to remove the needle from his arm, "my son is an extremely patient person. He puts up with me."

Dean looked at his father in shock. Dad said something complimentary? Out loud? In front of frigging freaky strangers?

"You can go now," Beast told him, patting his shoulder. He hadn't even felt the IV being removed. "Sir," Beast directed this at Dad, "I would recommend plenty of fluids, regular meals, and rest."

Dad nodded seriously. "I'll see to it."

It was strange, but Dean had the feeling Dad would see to it, too.

* * *

The rec room was pretty cool, but Dean preferred holding his class outside. Lecturing inside of four walls felt like too many other lousy high schools. He leaned back against the large oak tree while he listened to and moderated an animated discussion of how they should approach a class field trip to the mall. Field trips required at least one adult per five students, which posed a problem. Most teens hung out at the mall without parental supervision. How could they arrange three groups each with one adult which would look natural?

The kids were totally involved and really excited about the prospect of a field trip to try out some of his techniques. He had always been really good at reading people and knowing when one of his bullshit cover stories wasn't working. He had figured the kids in his class liked him before, but today when he focused on each teen he could swear he could tell how much they enjoyed his class.

Towards the end of class Dean felt dog-tired, even going so far as to lean his head back against the tree and close his eyes. He struggled to remain awake and follow what the kids were talking about.

"Dean?" Dad's voice was a whisper directly in his ear. "Son, maybe you need to end class for the day."

Yeah, good idea. Dean had to force his eyes to open and found his entire class plus Beast, Logan and Storm, staring at him. Crap. He must've fallen asleep.

"Okay, I think that's enough for today," he said, motioning for Dad to help him up.

"Hey, who's that?" one of the kids whispered.

"Did you see him join us?" another asked.

"When did he get here?"

"Where did that guy come from?"

"Homework," Dean announced loudly, yanking their focus from Dad back to him. Now he felt twice as tired. Crap. He took a deep breath and tried to shake off the tension building in his shoulders, but all it seemed to do was drain more energy from his body. "Watch a soap opera. Decide if the characters are behaving naturally or unnaturally. I've recorded an episode on tape which is labeled and in the rec room. I don't care if you watch it alone or in a group. Now get out of here." He waved them off, feeling more drained by the second. Dean clutched at Dad's arm as his class exchanged some confused looks before wandering off.

Relieved when their attention was anywhere other than Dad, Dean leaned into his father's steadying grip.

"Sit down," Dad ordered, lowering him to the ground.

"Really need to go inside," Dean insisted as the world starting spinning. "Oh, shit. Dizzy."

"Hunter!" Then Beast was right in front of him, tilting his head back and checking his eyes again. Why were doctors aways looking at your eyes, anyway? What can they possibly see in there?

"Open your mouth," Beast ordered. With a deep breath, Dean followed the order and braced himself with both hands behind him on the ground. Everything was still spinning. "And dizziness?"

"That's what he said," Dad put in before he could.

"Well, it would be consistent with his symptoms," Beast said. "Hunter, straight to bed for you. I will order dinner to be delivered to your room." He shuffled back a couple of feet. "And if you can not stay there, I will have you confined to the Infirmary."

"He'll stay." Dad hauled him to his feet and wrapped his arm over his father's shoulders. "You can close your eyes, I got ya, son." Knowing he was safe with Dad, Dean obeyed his orders.

* * *

John supported his son's weight into the mansion and back upstairs to the room assigned to Dean. He laid his boy out on the bed, his entire attention focused on the youthful face. God, his son looked young, more like a child than the young man he had grown into. Dean must've been exhausted, he was already asleep.

There wasn't much in this room, just a bed, nightstand, and a small desk with a chair. John pulled out the chair to sit when he noticed a spiral notepad next to where they had left their cell phones. He flipped it open to find Dean's precise handwriting covering the pages. It was the notes for his class. John settled in to read Dean's notes in earnest. He wanted no more surprises from his oldest.

While he sat there reading his cell, left behind so it wouldn't disturb the class, went off. Good grief, now what? Bobby?

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"About time!" Bobby roared at him. "Where the hell is Dean?"

Funny, John seemed to remember having this conversation in reverse the other day. "Actually, I have a pretty good idea you know where is he. He's at _work_."

"Is he all right?" Bobby demanded without missing a beat, or even sounding guilty. "Dean promised to check in with me every day he's there. He didn't call yesterday and I've spent most of the damn day checking to see if you two were arrested."

"I was wondering about that," John replied, ignoring the comment about being arrested. He was well aware his son could have had them arrested last night, it wouldn't have been the first time. Honestly, he would have preferred it to that nightmare he had. "So you knew about this job and the whole institute thing bothered you, but you still let Dean go through with it?"

"John," Bobby sighed over the phone. "I trust Dean. And I don't mean that in the same way you trust him."

"And how do I trust Dean?" John demanded as he tried to keep his voice down.

"You trust Dean to follow your orders and do what you want him to do," Bobby replied in a strained voice. "You trust him to have your back, but you don't trust his judgment."

"I don't?" John asked, astounded. "Since when?"

"John," Bobby said slowly, anger rising in his tone, "since when have you trusted anyone else's judgment? When have you ever given Dean, or hell, _me_, all the details of one of your hunts?"

"That's different," John snapped, one wary eye on Dean. If he started to move,it would mean John had woken him and he needed sleep. "I'm protecting him. He's my son."

"He's an adult!" Bobby practically shouted at him. "And he's one of the finest men _**I**_ know."

Dean grunted and rolled on his side. John froze, watching intently for signs of waking but his son's breathing returned to a regular, even pattern.

"He's sick," John admitted. Suddenly he knew it was a bad idea to keep Bobby out of the loop. Bobby was so important to their family.

"Sick? What is it? What happened?" Bobby demanded and John could hear the level of worry in his friend's voice, understood how Bobby felt like a member of the family.

"The doc isn't sure, but he's exhausted and no one knows why." John studied his son's sleeping form. "Maybe you should come out here," he said slowly as a wonderful idea formed. "I'll bet between the two of us, we'll be able to keep Dean corralled until he recovers."

"Where is here?" Bobby demanded. "That institute place?"

"Yeah," John replied, relieved backup was coming.

"I'll book a flight. Someone will have to pick me up at the airport," Bobby informed him.

"No problem. Call back when you have a time and flight number."

John hung up, eyes still pinned to his sleeping son. Although he was clearly asleep, Dean seemed to relax.

"Bobby," he muttered, shifting in the bed again. "Good. Need Bobby to help Dad."

He stared for a long time, watching Dean sleep and wondering how Bobby was supposed to help him. He had only invited Bobby because he felt like Dean could use another familiar face. Now, why would Dean need more than his own father? John scratched at his beard, confused. On the phone he had felt like he needed Bobby to help Dean recover from whatever-the-hell was wrong with him, but now it seemed like overkill. Dean had never needed more than him before, why would this be any different?

John felt a tension headache forming. He tried to focus his attention on the perfectly written but horribly enigmatic notes on the desk. Maybe if he ignored it, the disturbing questions about Dean would just go away. It had worked pretty well for him in the past.

* * *

Bobby stood in the passenger-pick-up area of the airport waiting for his ride. He wondered if John or someone else would be coming. Spotting John's truck, Bobby raised one hand to wave as he picked up his bag. The black truck pulled up alongside him, but it wasn't John driving.

"Logan!" Bobby said in greeting as he reached for the door handle.

"Singer," Logan said with a nod, an unlit cigar clamped in his teeth. Damn, he was a lot like his daddy.

Bobby tossed his bag behind the seat before climbing in. "So what's going on with Dean?" he demanded, voicing the thought foremost on his mind.

"Not sure." Logan guided the truck around other vehicles towards the exit. "The doc says it's exhaustion, but nobody can figure out from what. Didn't hit him until after his father showed up, though." The last part was said with a growl, and Bobby could relate.

"Dealing with John can be, well, stressful," Bobby admitted.

"I'll say," he grumbled. "Passed out again after class today. Now that man won't let anybody but a doctor near 'im. Seems ta think _we're_ the problem."

Bobby couldn't promise to help one way or the other, because he understood what John was thinking. He'd do the exact same thing. Then again, if John were part of the problem, keeping Dean locked up without access to other people wouldn't be doing the boy any favors.

"Good thing you're here," Logan's voice interrupted Bobby's thoughts. "I'm about ready to show that jackass who can and can't go through that door."

Bobby had the distinct impression, mainly from the way Dean behaved around him, that Logan could. And if he was anything like his daddy, Bobby was sure he would.

* * *

Charles Xavier stared at the wall sized monitor without seeing the images flickering across its surface. A silver helmet, the physical interface for Cerebro, fit snugly against his smooth shaven head.

"It doesn't make sense," he said aloud, voicing his thoughts here in the most secure room of the entire Institute. "The expended energy levels are not consistent with a simple empath."

He sighed heavily. Dean Winchester had been turning into more of an enigma by the day. If it weren't for the fact most of the senior staff had taken a liking to him, with the obvious exception of Scott Summers, he would be tempted to...

Why didn't Scott like Dean? Xavier turned the events of the past few days over in his mind. Since experiencing a rather abbreviated version of Dean's life, and suffering enough nightmares not to want to perform that particular task again, he knew Jean Grey should have been a perfect target for Dean's flirtatious nature. However, to the best of his knowledge, the two had barely spoken. Yet Scott still disliked Dean. There was as little reason for Scott's dislike as there was for Logan's clear alliance with the boy.

"Good God," he whispered, eyes regaining focus as his mind connected the distant dots. "Surely not? Is it possible?" Charles' head snapped up to focus on the screen.

"Cerebro, analyze energy expenditures of Dean Winchester, codename Hunter, since his arrival. Chart physical energy levels and cross reference with time of day and the number of people around him," he ordered. Perhaps there was a logical explanation after all.


	17. Chapter 17: On The Defense

**Chapter 17: On the Defense**

There was a knock on Dean's door. John stood to open it. If one more freak demanded to see his son, he would haul Dean over one shoulder and attempt a get-away.

Bobby stood in the hall, that Logan guy right behind him. "Well?" Bobby demanded. "Are ya gonna make me stand out here all day?"

John opened the door wider for Bobby, but Logan pressed into the room too. Both sported worried expressions as they approached Dean's bed. Bobby sat on the side and gently shook Dean's shoulder.

"Dean? Hey, Dean," Bobby said in a tone John recognized. It was the same tone he had used on the boys whenever they had been sick or injured at his house.

John had not expected Dean to wake, but his eyelashes fluttered and he moved a little. Bobby called him again and his eyes opened.

"Bobby, dude," Dean said with a warm smile. "Took you long enough."

Bobby chuckled, one hand planted firmly on Dean's arm. "Dean, what happened?"

Dean's head rolled from side to side. "Just tired, that's all." One hand waved lazily in the air. "They're blowing it all out of proportion. Ow!"

John jumped from the door to beside Dean's bed. What had Bobby done? Dean had one hand pressed to his temple, his face scrunched up in pain. "Worry, worry, worry," he mumbled. "Too much. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it."

The litany to stop echoed in John's ears and then his mind. He blinked a few times, evaluating Dean's room. So his son was a little tired. So what? He just needed rest. All these people hanging out in the room couldn't be helping.

"Come on," John rumbled at the others. "Dean needs some sleep. Let's go find something to eat. I hear there's a kitchen around someplace."

Logan waved a hand at him. "I know the way. Let's go."

John checked that Bobby was with them before closing Dean's door. A nice turkey sandwich sounded pretty good right now.

* * *

"Professor," Cerebro intoned, "there is an energy expenditure coming from Hunter's room."

Xavier, using the helmet interface, scanned Dean's room. There was indeed a mutant energy signature, a rather strong one, and four adults. Three of the adults left the room, but the energy signature appeared to emanate from the remaining fourth.

He slipped the helmet off before spinning his chair around to race for the upper levels. Perhaps now he would be able to confirm his theory. When he arrived in Dean's room he found it empty save for Dean himself, who was sleeping. Not to be deterred, Xavier swept the immediate area telepathically, discovering Logan, the elder Winchester, and a stranger in the main kitchen downstairs. He went down to find them preparing sandwiches.

"What happened?" he demanded of them.

They exchanged looks of surprise.

"To what, Professor?" Logan asked before taking a large bite of his sandwich.

"Dean." Xavier stared at each of them in turn, reaching out with a gentle surface mind probe. None of them were worried. Not in the least. The strongest concern right now was hunger.

He spun on John Winchester. "An hour ago you were so upset you refused to allow anyone entry to your son's room and insisted on standing guard." He shifted to Logan. "And you were convinced Dean's current condition was the result of his father's influence. You were ready to physically remove him from the grounds." He turned his chair around to face the new gentleman. "Assuming you are Bobby Singer, you were so concerned about Dean's welfare that you flew all the way here on no notice."

Xavier pulled back so he could regard them all at once. "And yet now you are all in the kitchen, making sandwiches. What happened?"

"There's nuthin' to worry about," Singer insisted, closing his sandwich with a pat. "He's just tired."

"Yeah," John Winchester added. "If it were more serious than that, don't you think I'd..." John frowned, his gaze shifting between the sandwich in his hand and Xavier. "What are we doing down here? I'm not even hungry."

"I am," Logan said around the food in his mouth. He used his sandwich to point at John. "Seriously overreactin'."

"Perhaps not," Xavier replied. He probed their minds again. John struggled to worry, as if he recognized the fact there was a force holding him back. Meanwhile Logan who had been radiating concern, even if he had not been showing it, since Dean had left campus to look for his father was perfectly at ease and unworried as was this new person no one had bothered to introduce. "Come with me. Immediately."

Confident Logan would herd the others this way, Charles rushed back to the instructors' wing. A gentle mental sweep of the room assured him Dean was, indeed, still sleeping. After positioning his chair halfway between the bed and door, he frowned and steepled his hands as he considered his options. The three men moved quietly through the door, which was not unexpected considering the things they did for a living. Logan and Singer were still eating their sandwiches. Apparently John Winchester had abandoned his in the kitchen. The moment John stepped closer to his son's bed, Dean stirred and mumbled "stop" in his sleep.

Charles waved the older Winchester back. When John was outside of a ten foot radius, Dean relaxed.

"It's proximity!" he cried. "He is definitely an empath. Logan," Charles sought out the trusted face, "how do you feel right now? Are you concerned or worried?"

Logan paused as if he were thinking it over, then he shook his head before taking another casual bite of his sandwich.

"Good. Hurry up and finish that so you can carry Dean back to the Infirmary. I want him in the isolation chamber," Xavier explained.

Logan nodded and stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. Cheeks bulging and lips nowhere near to closing, Logan approached the sleeping boy. Dean stirred again.

"What's going on?" John Winchester asked slowly.

"Move back." Charles used his motorized chair to force the other men out of Logan's way. He blocked them from following immediately.

"John, cool it," the stranger insisted. "After Dean gets a little sleep, he'll be just fine."

"And how would you know that, sir?" Charles challenged. "You are Bobby Singer, I presume?"

"Oh, uh..." The rather burly man wearing a plaid shirt and padded red vest wiped his right hand off on his sleeve. "Singer," he said, offering his hand.

Charles shook it. "Charles Xavier."

"Xavier?" Singer appeared concerned now. "As in Xavier Institute?"

Charles nodded. "I believe you were about to tell me how you can be so certain all Dean needs is a little sleep."

"Uh, well, it just seemed obvious." Singer turned to face John. "Funny. I'm not hungry any more."

John motioned to the trash can beside the room desk. The rest of Singer's sandwich landed with a soft plop inside the metal container. Singer scratched at his beard.

"You know what?" Singer said slowly, his eyes shifting back and forth. "I think this might be more serious than a nap."

"You think?" John asked in a deep, disproving rumble. "And you just let that Logan character carry him off."

Bobby turned to glare. "That Logan character happens to be a friend of Dean's. And his daddy was a friend of mine. He's good people, John."

"Well, I really don't care if..."

"Gentlemen!" Charles shouted for attention. "Please. If you like, you may accompany me to visit Dean's doctor."

John's face hardened. "This should be good. C'mon, Bobby."

* * *

Bobby stared in disbelief at Dean's 'doctor'. It was a damn good thing they sprang this on him indoors, when he wasn't armed, otherwise this institute would have one doctor less on the payroll.

The giant furry blue beast wore thin black rimmed spectacles and a white lab coat over slacks and a nice business shirt. "Fascinating," he murmured. "Professor Xavier, if your theory proves to be sound, you will have discovered a new mutant ability. Most fascinating."

"My son isn't some mutant," John snapped. Winchester must be beyond annoyed, standing against the wall and being ignored like that.

"Actually, he is." The older guy in the fancy chair spun around to face them. "I had Dean's blood tested for the mutant gene and the results were positive. Since he showed no obvious signs, no clear mutant abilities, I had assumed the gene was dormant." A chilling smile appeared. "Clearly I was mistaken."

"Yeah?" John challenged, stepping forward. Would John hit a guy in a wheelchair? Well, if he thought the man might pose a threat to his family then yes, he would. No doubt. "How?"

"Actually, I can prove it," Xavier stated. "If you, Mister Winchester, would allow me to probe one of your memories."

"One of my memories?" John asked. "Why? Are you a psychic?"

"The term is telepath," Xavier answered. "Well? Are you willing?"

John's eyes narrowed on him. "What memory?"

"The night Dean went to look for you after you called, you thought he stopped breathing. That his heart had stopped. Isn't that right?" Xavier motioned to blue and furry. "I believe that is what you told Doctor McCoy."

John's jaw set, a familiar stubborn pose. "The doc said there wasn't any evidence of it."

"Precisely," Xavier agreed enthusiastically. "That is what I wish to prove. That you did, indeed, experience the loss of your son before your very eyes, and yet it never actually happened. Why?" One hand waved at the small window set into the wall of Dean's isolation chamber. "Because Dean caused it."

Indecision crossed John's face. "Yeah? Why?"

Xavier's hands opened, palms up. "I have no idea, but probing your memory of the event would certainly help in solving that particular mystery."

Strong arms crossed over a wide plaid covered chest. "Forget it," John said with a snarl. "There's nothing _wrong_ with my son."

"Sir, I beg to differ," Xavier said calmly. Bobby had the impression the man had had to talk with irate parents before. "Your son has shown remarkable improvement since placing him inside isolation an hour ago, but his energy levels are still dangerously low, as if he had not eaten well in days, which we know is not the case."

"Sir," the furry beast interrupted, "either your son's system is no longer capable of processing food, or his body is suddenly demanding much more. Tell me, has he always eaten more than average?"

"Dean has a good appetite," John replied slowly, his eyebrows drawing together. "Always has. When he was a kid, he carried candy bars in his pockets, because..."

"Because why?" Xavier demanded.

"Because if he didn't," Bobby put in, "he'd get dizzy. I took him to a couple of doctors, but they never found anything wrong with him and suggested he just keep doing what worked."

"You took him to some doctors?" John demanded. "Where the hell was I?"

Bobby snorted. "Good question." The slug to his shoulder had been fully anticipated. He was sure it wouldn't hurt to move by, oh, next week at the latest.

"Hunter complained of dizziness just before collapsing on the lawn, Professor," the furry doctor said.

"Uh, who are you again?" Bobby asked.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, extending a furry and clawed hand. "Hank McCoy. I'm a doctor."

"Bobby Singer." He shook the hand gingerly. "Who is Hunter?"

"Dean is," John sighed. "Lot of imagination there, huh?"

Bobby shoved John in the shoulder. "Do it, John. Let him check this out. If Dean is some kind of mutant, we need to know how to deal with it."

"Mister Singer is correct," Xavier said. "Some mutant abilities can take an excessive toll on the individual. If Dean is one of those but the people around him are aware of it, you can keep an eye on him and will know what to do if he collapses. Like today. But we won't know for sure until we understand the nature of his abilities."

John sighed heavily before finally nodding. "What do I do?"

"Sit down." Xavier motioned to a chair. "First, clear your mind. Do not focus on anything for a few moments. If it helps, picture a blank white wall."

John sat and closed his eyes. Two of Xavier's fingers pressed against his right temple. "Very good." His eyes closed. "Now I want you to think about that night when Dean found you. Where were you? What you were doing? ... That's it. … Oh, my." Xavier's smooth face tightened, a pinched expression replacing the calm that had been there before. His head tilted to one side as the area around his eyes scrunched up.

His eyes jerked open and he gasped. "Good lord." Xavier's chair spun around. "Doctor McCoy, keep him in there until you can determine how to keep his energy levels up. I think our patient's mutant abilities have been virtually dormant until now. It's probably a defense mechanism."

"What is?" Bobby demanded. "What the hell happened? Why would Dean need..." His gaze narrowed on that ass, John Winchester. "What the hell did you do?"

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I'll need to see Dean's memory of that night as well, to compare them. Excuse me." Xavier left the room.

Bobby rushed to the small window to watch the head of the institute approach Dean. Soon he was joined by John.

"I didn't do anything," John muttered. "I was just drunk. Never laid a hand on him, Bobby. I swear."

Bobby scowled, keeping his focus on Dean. For that kid, it was often the things you said or the way you acted that caused the most damage. Actually, if Dean really was an empath, that explained pretty well why it caused the most damage. Xavier pressed his fingers against his temple again and closed his eyes. The pinched expression came back. After a moment his eyes opened and his hand dropped. It appeared he was speaking to Dean, but the boy never moved. Then he nodded his head and spun around to leave.

Psychics, furry doctors, Dean made the most bizarre friends when left to his own devices. No wonder John had always keep the kid on a short leash.

Xavier returned to the observation room. "Doctor McCoy," he announced before the door could close behind him, "we have indeed discovered a new mutant ability."


	18. Chapter 18: The Explanation

The moment many of you have been waiting for!

**Chapter 18: The Explanation**

Head pounding, mouth dry, and aches and pains in places that never complained before, Dean struggled to open his eyes. Ah, crap. The infirmary again? He rolled his head to the side. This place was different. It had a lot of the same cool stuff and flashing lights as the infirmary, but there was only one bed in here. The ache in his arm proved to be another IV. Frigging great. Dean studied it for a moment. The fluid last time, simple saline, had been clear. This stuff was kind of murky, like it had a white cloud in it.

He sat up, the pounding in his head lessening. Where the hell was everybody? Last time, Dad had been right beside him when he woke up. A tapping noise attracted his attention. Dean followed the noise to see his dad and Bobby looking in a window set into the wall. With a frown, Dean motioned for them to come in. They kept waving but never moved away from the window.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

Then the door opened to admit Beast pushing a cart with an amazing aroma emanating from it. Dean closed his eyes to breathe in deeply, his mouth watering.

"Please tell me you're hungry," Beast said. "I had the cook prepare this special."

"Starved," Dean admitted. "So when can I lose the IV?"

Beast pushed the tray close. "Not yet. We may have to keep you in here for a while."

"What?" Dean lifted the metal cover and drool escaped from his mouth. God, it all looked so good! He grabbed a fork and set to work. "What for?" he asked around a mouthful of food.

"You are expending more energy than you take in," Beast told him. "Which is also the reason for the IV. It isn't just replacing bodily fluids."

Tension built between his shoulderblades. While scooping up another forkful of food, Dean shook it out. "I'm fine," he insisted. "I'll be better when I get out of this stupid room."

Beast frowned, studying him intently. "Yes, I can see where being confined would be detrimental. Very well, allow me to remove the IV."

"No!" Xavier's voice barked sharply from the door. "Doctor McCoy, do not remove the IV."

Dean used his fork to point. "Dude, he's the doctor. He knows what he's doing."

"Not at the moment," Xavier argued, staying just outside the doorway. "Doctor, step out here for a few minutes and see if you still feel the same way."

Curious, Dean watched while he continued to eat. He was freaking starving. How long had he been out this time?

"Two hours," Xavier told him. Dean shot him a questioning look. "You were wondering how long you had been unconscious? Two hours."

Dean nodded, preferring to focus on eating right now. "Why're they out there?" he asked with a full mouth, jerking his chin at the small window.

"Ah, yes. That." Xavier cleared his throat before rolling the rest of the way inside. "Dean, I feel it is in your best interest for certain family members and friends to keep their distance. Now, this is only short-term, I assure you."

His hand froze, a loaded fork halfway to his mouth, while he stared at the Professor. His dad had to keep his distance? His own father? Bullshit. That spot between his shoulderblades ached, burning with an unbearable need to be released. Dean rolled his shoulders with a hard snap, fully aware of Xavier's eyes burning intently into him.

He set down his fork. "I'd really like for them to come in," Dean insisted as he upped the charm and flashed one of his hustling smiles. "I mean, it can't hurt, right? Dad and Bobby would never hurt me. What's Bobby doing here anyway?"

The banging on the window grew louder and muffled shouts could just be made out in his room. Dean looked curiously at them as he felt a hunger pang. Dad and Bobby were waving frantically at the Professor.

"Excuse me one moment, Dean," Xavier said politely. "When I return your father may accompany me."

Satisfied, Dean nodded and returned his focus to the mound of food in front of him. Geez, it was like he hadn't eaten in a week!

* * *

John pounded harder on the special glass, desperately trying to draw Xavier's attention. Dean's energy signature was off the charts. After what felt like an eternity, Xavier left the room and the amount of energy his son was radiating dropped to above average.

"Yes?" Xavier asked when he entered the observation room. "Is there a problem?"

"It spiked," John explained, pointing at the energy monitor.

Xavier frowned, his brow furrowed deeply. "Really? How high?"

"Off the chart," he said hurriedly.

"Then it is a good thing you alerted me." He lowered his head and raised his steepled fingers until the tips brushed his lips. "Doctor McCoy, what was the exact time of the energy spike?"

The furry doctor pressed some buttons on the monitor. "Exactly four minutes and ten seconds ago, sir."

Xavier nodded. "Please replay the observation monitor for that time, starting about a minute before the anomaly occurred."

The doctor fiddled with another section of the equipment. "Here it is, Professor."

They crowded around the small video screen showing the replay. A blue furry finger, if it could be called a finger, pressed the button to allow it to replay. John mentally counted down the minute. At the time of the energy spike, Dean performed that odd rolling thing with his shoulders.

"Was that it?" John demanded, one finger on the screen pointing out Dean's shoulders. "Is that how he does it?"

"It is not a question of how, Mister Winchester," Xavier said seriously, "it is a question of what. That being said, I think you may be right. Doctor, please show it again."

Now that he knew what to look for, John realized Dean had had this particular quirk for years. How far back did it go? Pre-teen? Child? He could not remember a time when Dean had not done the odd move with his shoulders, especially in stressful situations.

"Professor," the doctor said after they had watched it four times, "I still think it's safe to remove the IV."

"Certainly, doctor," Xavier replied with a nod. "And it should be relatively safe for him to have visitors as well, don't you think?"

John looked between them in amazement. "You both sound like you're doing what Dean wants. I thought having people too close physically was part of the problem. It made him expend too much energy?"

Doubt flickered across Xavier's features. "Yes," he said slowly. "But even so, I feel quite certain no harm can come of it. It seems absurd to be harmed by one's own father simply being in the room." He rubbed at his forehead with the tips of his long fingers. "And yet, after having experienced the moment when the mutant gene became active from both perspectives, I know for a fact it could harm Dean." Both hands rubbed at his temples. "It is as if I shared Dean's... His perception?" His head snapped up and a broad smile spread.

"Doctor McCoy, it appears that Dean is capable of altering others' perceptions of himself and perhaps the environment." Xavier's eyes glistened and John thought he might be sick. "It fits perfectly with Cerebro's report on his energy readings. Logan is confirming with his students to see what they do and do not remember from his last class. After speaking with a few of the students, Logan discovered that none of them remembered Mister Winchester there, as if Dean had been shielding him."

John thought he would definitely be sick now. Why wouldn't Dean want the kids to know he was there? Was his son ashamed of him? And since when had he been taking any of this mutant business seriously?

"Fascinating," the blue doctor intoned. "But should I remove the IV first?"

"No," John snapped, "leave it. He needs it until you figure out how to keep him from passing out."

"He is in isolation," the doctor argued. "It should be safe."

"His father is quite correct, Doctor," Xavier stated. "You are also under Dean's influence. He wants that IV out of his arm, therefore you do as well."

The black eyebrows which were a thicker ridge against the blue fur lifted. "Really? Most fascinating indeed."

John let out the breath he had been holding. They were listening to him for now. His eyes straying to Dean eating by himself inside isolation, John wondered how long that would last.

* * *

Logan rapped twice on the door to isolation before pushing it open. Dean's head lifted and a grin appeared.

"Dude, where ya been?" he asked, lifting the remote control for the television and shutting it off.

"I had a coupla things I had to do. And then the Professor and Beast had to brief me," Logan replied. He pulled up the only chair in the room to straddle next to Dean's bed. "About you."

Dean's eyes rolled. "Did you know they won't let my dad in here?"

"Uh, yeah, kid, I knew that." Logan shrugged. "It's like I keep tellin' ya, the Professor has his reasons."

Dean stared at him for a long moment. "There's something you don't want to tell me?"

Logan winced. He almost forgot they said the kid was an empath too. "Well, uh..." He sighed and rested his chin on the back of the chair. "You're one-a us, kid."

"Us?" Dean sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed, facing Logan. "What's that supposed to mean? Us?"

"It means that you're teachin' in the right kind of school." Logan stared at him as a crest-fallen look came over the kid's too damn young face. Like he hadn't dealt with enough crap in his life. "It ain't so bad, kid. There's lots of perks to this life, you know. Especially for you."

"Why?" The poor kid seemed scared, the fear-scent stinking up the place. They had warned him to watch for that shoulder-shake thing the kid liked to do, but Dean hadn't so much as twitched.

"Well, you can't heal like I can, but you can..." He wanted to use the exact words the Professor had. "You have the ability to alter people's perceptions. Oh, and you're an empath."

Dean made a sour face. "Oh, right," he scoffed. "Dude, that sounds too freaking girly."

Logan grinned. "It's worse than that, kid. It means you can tell what other people are feelin'." He chuckled at the horror spreading on Dean's face. "Can ya tell what I'm feelin' right now?"

"Asshole," Dean grumbled, shooting him a nasty look. "You're enjoying this," he accused.

"Telling you what a girl you are?" Logan asked with a grin. "Oh, yeah. A lot."

Dean started to roll his eyes, but then his whole body stiffened and his gaze landed back on Logan. "It didn't used to be this easy," he said slowly.

"What didn't?" Logan asked. The Professor had hoped he would be able to discuss Dean's mutant abilities and the need to keep him confined to the isolation room.

"Reading you." Dean frowned and his eyes narrowed. "I used to have to kind of work at it, but now it's, I dunno, just easy."

Logan shrugged. "They think you've always been able to do it, just not this well. That's what's kickin' your ass, by the way."

"Being a what-ya-call-it?" Dean asked.

Logan glared back. "Kid, you ain't that stupid. Say it. Out loud." Logan motioned with one hand. "Come on, it's the first step."

"First step to what?" Dean asked, an undercurrent of anger in his voice. "Being a freak?"

Logan tried not to glare this time. "Kid, around here, we're all freaks. You're lucky – no wings, tail or fur. You and me, we can blend in. A lot of these other saps haveta hide out or stay here, at the Institute."

"Yeah," Dean said in a snide voice, "you blend." His eyes rolled this time.

"Look, kid," he was starting to lose his patience, "you got a gift, all right? One most mutants would kill for. But it's also somethin' you can teach, because you took it further all on your own. Your class can't wait for the next session. I swear, I think they wore out that damn tape you made for 'em. Other students have been dropping by the rec room just ta listen to the discussions." He paused to take a breath. "All we gotta do is figure out how to keep ya from passin' out all the time."

Dean's glare was hot and hard. Logan waited for one of the men watching them to bang on the windows, a warning that his perception was bein' changed. It never happened.

"Why can't Dad and Bobby come in?" he asked in a stiff voice, still glaring.

He had been afraid of this question. "Because you've been workin' real hard at making sure your dad ain't mad at ya. It's eatin' up all your energy."

His gaze dropped to the floor and he scratched at the back of his neck. "Is he mad?"

The question was so soft, if it weren't for the fact he had damned good hearing, Logan doubted he would've heard it.

"It sure doesn't look like it, Dean. He's just worried about you."

Dean nodded once. "Why is Bobby here?"

Logan shifted in the hard chair, crossing his arms on the back. "Now that's an interesting question. There's been a whole lot of talk about it. Near as the smart scientists can figure out, Singer is here because you wanted him here."

"But-but I didn't call Bobby," Dean protested, his head snapping up.

"In a way you did," Logan told him. "It looks like you was asleep when ya did it too, which has the Professor talkin' about automatic this and defensive something else." He lifted a hand to wave it lazily in the air between them. "Beats me. Best I can figure out is, if you want somebody to see things your way, you can make it happen."

"If that's true," Dean challenged, "why am I still in this room with the damn IV in my arm?"

Logan grinned. He had been hoping for this question. "Because we got smart people around here. Nobody comes into this room without another person watchin' through that window." He pointed it out even though Dean had to know it was there. "The watchers got equipment that monitor when you put out energy, so they can tell when you're warpin' somebody's, uh, way of thinking."

"Great," Dean grumbled under his breath. "Now I have ta be watched all the freaking time."

Logan snorted at him. "Oh, don't get all mopey on me, kid. It ain't forever. It's just temporary, until you learn how ta control it."

"But I don't even know what I'm doing!" the kid protested loudly. "Or when!"

"You got a tell, kid. Your father figured it out." Logan watched as something like relief flashed across the young face.

"A tell? So you do play poker," Dean stated. "We should play sometime."

Logan shook his head. "I ain't that stupid. Even without bein' an empath, I have a feelin' you'd be able ta take my last dollar." He should arrange a little game with Dean and Longshot, and maybe Gambit.

Dean huffed a small sigh before motioning to him. "All right. I give. What's my tell?"

"You know that thing you do with your shoulders?" he asked, trying to mimic the action and failing miserably.

Dean's brow furrowed. "Yeah?" he said slowly.

"That's when you do it," Logan explained.

Dean frowned, the furrows in his brow deepening. "That doesn't make sense," he finally argued, his words slow and cautious. "When my shoulders feel like that, it's just tension." His eyes locked with Logan's. "If I can shake it out, break the tension, then-"

"Then things start ta work out for ya?" Logan guessed. "People start behavin' more the way you expect? Or they stop lookin' down their noses at ya?" He nodded in agreement. "You're right. They do. I've seen it."

"Crap," Dean breathed, eyes wide and all bugged out.

"Dean? Do you want me to take out your IV or get you out outta this room?" He was dyin' to know why Dean hadn't tried anything on him yet.

Dean looked at him like he was a blue-ribbon idiot. "First off, there is no way I'd let you stick a needle in me or pull one out. Second, you answer to the Professor. If you or anybody else let me out of here, he'd make you hunt me down and put me back, so what's the point?"

Logan tried to look hurt. "You won't let me stick ya with needles, kid?"

A small chuckle came from the kid. "Asshole."

Logan grinned. "Better believe it. Now Hank, that's Beast's real name, he has some crazy ideas about therapy and meditation for you. I tried ta tell him it was a waste of time, but since you're stuck here until you figure out how to control this..." He shrugged.

Dean groaned, one hand rubbing at his scalp. "Joy. No choices, huh?"

Logan jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the window. "And they're plannin' on a couple of watchers during therapy."

He groaned again.

"But on the bright side, I got permission to let your father and Singer see ya. For a few minutes. One at a time." He jerked his head at the door. "I'm gonna go be a watcher, all right?"

"Uh, who's first?" Dean asked. Logan detected some fresh fear-scent in the air.

"Who do you want first?" he asked. "I'll tell 'em it was my call."

After a fearful glance at the door, Dean motioned for Logan to come closer. "Bobby," he whispered in Logan's ear. "I need to find out how he thinks Dad is taking all this."

Logan rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before heading out of the room. He would've liked to assure the kid his father wasn't upset or angry, but the truth was, he didn't know for sure.


	19. Chapter 19: Limits and Boundaries

**Chapter 19: Limits and Boundaries**

Dean had to admit, grudgingly, that he felt better now than he had since the call from Dad. When Bobby entered the room, he carried in a second chair. Relieved he wouldn't have to be in bed all the freaking time, Dean moved to sit opposite his old friend. Bobby, however, had other plans.

"C'mere, boy," he said gruffly. Dean stepped into the waiting embrace, rather shocked to experience the deep level of concern and affection Bobby held for him. It was far more than he was worth.

When the embrace broke, Dean grasped both of Bobby's upper arms. "Really?" he asked softly, looking their staunchest family friend in the eye. "You mean it?" Maybe it wasn't really for him. He was still new at this, he could be reading Bobby wrong.

His answer was a second crushing hug. Yeah, no denying this one even if he wanted to. Funny thing was, he didn't. It actually felt like Bobby cared about him as much as if he were flesh and blood, like a son.

"All right, all right," Dean chuckled, breaking away slightly embarrassed. "It's good to see you too, Bobby." They sat facing each other in an awkward silence.

"Well," Bobby broke it first, "so this is why you asked about mutants. Guess I need to go back through my files, huh? Maybe get that professor guy to look 'em over, see if he can tell if it's a mutant or supernatural."

"He probably will too, if you tell him you're going to hunt it," Dean replied. "They're kinda protective about mutants around here."

"So I see." Bobby nodded and stared hard. "You sure don't look any different. After seein' your doctor, I was afraid you'd have pointed ears or fur."

He could tell Bobby wanted to put him at ease. "Thanks, Bobby." Dean rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans, feeling the tension building in his shoulders. "Uh, I kind of wanted to ask you something."

"Whether or not you're daddy's bein' an ass about all this?" Bobby asked point-blank.

The question was so startling, as if Bobby could read his mind, the tension dropped from his shoulders. "Huh?"

"That is what you want to know, right?" Bobby demanded. He removed his trucker's cap to run a hand over his head. "I hope so, Dean. Your daddy appears to be taking all of this in stride, but you know better than anyone what a con man he can be. So the honest answer? Beats the hell outta me. But if he's not..." Bobby shook his head, a deadly expression settling on his hardened features. "I got a shotgun with his name on it."

He meant it enough to alarm Dean.

"Bobby, promise me you won't-" Dean started.

"No," Bobby snapped harshly. "Damn it, Dean! After everything you've given your family, you deserve..." The tidal wave of conflicting emotions, so many Dean couldn't identify them all, was mind-numbing. "Dean?"

A gentle shake of his arm brought him back to himself. "Yeah. Sorry. What?" He tried to clear his head.

"What happened?" Bobby asked gently while holding on to his arm, and now all Dean felt was worry and concern with a splash of confusion.

"Uh, I'm not sure," he said slowly, still trying to focus on Bobby. "But it was a lot."

A gentle smile creased Bobby's craggy face. "I reckon it's going to be damn near impossible to lie to you now, huh?"

Dean looked back in that familiar face, one of the few which meant home, and smiled. "Like you ever could."

Bobby chuckled, slapping him in the arm. "Of course I have. Lying and bluffing are two different things, you know. I wasn't talking about cards."

"Sure, Bobby." Dean's smile widened. "Whatever you say."

"Oh, shut up." Bobby grunted, glancing back at the closed door. He settled into his chair, arms crossed defensively over his chest. "Well? Are you ready yet? You can't put him off forever, you know. Your daddy has been tryin' to get in here since Logan hauled your ass down."

"Shotgun with his name on it?" Dean asked. Bobby gave him a single slow nod. "All right," he sighed. "Send him in."

Dean tried to make himself comfortable in the molded plastic chair, but it was asking too much of the poor plastic. He overheard voices outside the door and then the hinges creaked. The spot between his shoulderblades began to itch and sting, like it was touching a bare wire conducting live current.

"Hey, son." Dad smiled. Smiled? "Can I..." he motioned to the empty chair.

Dean swallowed hard before nodding, studying his father intently. He wished he could tell what Dad was thinking right now, about him. All he could feel was anxiety, and Dean couldn't tell if it came from him or Dad. Dad sat slowly, the smile small and forced. His whole body thrummed with nervous energy, the tension building. Now that spot between his shoulderblades hurt, a stabbing pain lancing through his back. It was almost unbearable, but Dean tightened his shoulders in an attempt to hold it in.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Dad asked and a fresh wave of emotions, mainly worry, coursed through him. It was too much. He hated it when Dad worried about him, it was one of the few things Dean found intolerable regarding his father. Between the worry and the stabbing pain, Dean gave his shoulders a quick roll and snap. His own tension melted from the simple action and Dad's smile returned.

"See?" Dad asked jovially. "No problem. I can't believe they thought..."

A banging noise came from the window. Crap. Dad spun around quickly, his face reflecting disbelief. When he turned to face Dean again, he seemed...sad.

"Why?" he whispered. "What did I do?" Disappointment crept out to swirl around them.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dad. I-I didn't mean it. I was just so worried and, uh, nervous, and..."

"And what?" Dad asked gently. "It's all right, Dean. We all want to help you." Dad's eyes burned into him, as if his father could peer into the depths of his soul. The very idea caused a chill to race up Dean's arms, all the hairs standing out stiffly. "I never thought I'd be looking to a blue monster for help, but that McCoy guy does seem to know his stuff."

The room felt different now, there wasn't as much stress and tension and the disappointment was gone. The worry was still there but it wasn't as prominent, now curiosity overshadowed it.

"Uh, well..." Dean swallowed hard. He hated touchy-feely crap, but it was preferable to all that freaking worry. "When I get nervous or tense, my back hurts."

"Your back hurts?" Dad gave the window a questioning glance before turning back. "Where does it hurt?"

"Right between the shoulderblades," he explained. "And when it gets really bad, I have to shake it out. Like this." Dean started to snap his shoulders again.

"No!" Dad shouted. "Don't. Just don't," he said in a softer voice with one hand in the air. "You didn't lose too much energy yet, I don't want you passing out again."

"Oh. Okay." Dean shrugged and Dad winced. "Sorry."

Dad shook his head. "No, it's fine, Dean. I'm just want to understand because I'm worried."

"Tell me about it," Dean said expressively. "Sometimes you worry so much you give me a headache."

Dad sat blinking at him with a stony expression for several minutes. Dean began to wonder if his father was still awake. Emotionally, he couldn't read anything but mild confusion.

"I've worried enough to give you a headache?" he asked, leaning forward to rest forearms on his knees. "When?"

Dean had to think about it for a moment. "Do you remember the hunt with the dude who works at an airport? The nasty poltergeist?"

Dad nodded and he could feel a fresh surge of worry.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, pointing at Dad, "just like that, the whole time I had those busted ribs. I called Bobby every chance I had, trying to find a hunt for you so I could be alone for a couple of days."

Dad frowned, the space between his eyes a deep furrow. "But the gene shouldn't have been active yet," he argued. "McCoy said so. It turned on the other night, when you tracked me down."

"Oh. Okay." Dean shrugged. "Maybe I just had a migraine then."

"I doubt it," Professor Xavier cut in. Dean hadn't noticed that the door had been open a crack, he must be slipping. Now it swung open to admit the professor. "More likely it had simply been operating on a much lower level. On a one to ten scale, when you first met Logan your abilities would have been a one, perhaps a two. Now they rate on average a seven, ten when you do that thing with your shoulders." Xavier pulled up beside them. "I suspect with the people you truly care about, such as your father and Mister Singer, you have applied your latent abilities to their former greatest extents. Since you have not had time to change that habit, you are still applying a great deal of effort to reading your father and making certain he is pleased with you." Xavier's eyes blazed into him. "An effort which is unnecessary but I suspect will need to be addressed in therapy sessions."

Unnecessary? Yeah, right. Clearly the man didn't know Dad at-freaking-all.

"Most unnecessary," Xavier repeated with a pointed glare at Dean. "I have no idea where your low sense of self-worth comes from, Dean. Both your father and Mister Singer clearly think highly of you." His brow furrowed. "Especially Mister Singer."

Dad's head turned slowly to glare at the Professor. "Are you trying to say Bobby likes Dean more than his own father?" he asked in a low voice. The words dripped with anger. "And what was that crack about self-worth?"

That spot between his shoulderblades knotted tightly, practically buzzing with tension.

"Certainly not," Xavier replied sharply. "Although I doubt Mister Singer would be capable of caring for Dean more if our newest instructor were of his flesh and blood. However, I do feel such low self-esteem must stem from somewhere." His head tilted to one side to regard Dad. Oh, crap! The sore spot in his back, between the shoulderblades, throbbed painfully.

"Mister Winchester, have you perhaps been in the habit of playing favorites?" Xavier asked, his voice as smooth as normal but his charged emotions of disapproval and dislike coming through loud and clear.

Dad's irritation and anger, charged high enough to launch a shuttle, hit critical with the question and his dark eyes flashed. Despite his outward cool appearance, Xavier wasn't any calmer. Dean shot to his feet, placing his body between the two men.

"No!" he shouted, holding his hands out. "Don't!" The spot in his back felt like a blade piercing skin and muscle, stabbing through to his chest. Dean rolled and snapped his shoulders, relieved when the pain flowed out of his back, down his arms and away.

Banging noises instantly came from the small window, but Dean did not care. All he cared about was the two men in the room learning to get along.

"Professor," he said with a nervous smile, "don't you think that was out of line? I mean, we never even met before a couple of weeks ago." He spun on his heel to face Dad. The banging on the window was louder now, accompanied by shouts. "And Dad, you do see that the Professor is just trying to help, right? I kind of like teaching the kids. It's like hanging out with a roomful of teenage Sams."

Dad rolled his eyes. "Sounds like hell to me." His eyes dropped to his hands, where his thumbs rubbed together nervously. "But you are good with them."

The room around them tilted at an odd angle. Dean closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it. When he reopened his eyes, the room seemed level again. Better. Much better. He focused on the two other men in the room, ignoring the shouting and banging from the window.

"Did you hear something?" Dad asked, glancing around. His eyes strayed to the window for a brief moment, but they seemed unfocused, as if he couldn't see the men banging on it.

"I don't think so," Xavier replied airily.

Dad frowned, his brow furrowing. "I'm pretty sure I heard something."

The banging on the window increased in intensity.

"It's nothing, Dad," Dean assured him, stepping closer to his father. "The Professor isn't so bad, is he?" He grabbed one of Dad's shoulders, wondering if he would have to beat the idea home with a sledgehammer.

Dad's face blanked for a moment, the vacant look quickly replaced with a slight smile. "Nah, I guess not."

"Professor?" Shit, he was feeling dizzy again. Dean stumbled back a step, aiming for his chair.

"Dean!" Logan rushed into the room. "Knock it off!"

Dean waved him away. "Professor..." He used one hand to feel behind him for the chair. Where the hell was it? "You think my dad's a good guy, right? I mean, he's a, uh..."

"Easy, kid," Logan murmured from behind him. It was followed by hands pressing down on his shoulders, forcing him to sit. Fortunately a chair caught his ass before it hit the floor.

"...superhero," Dean finished weakly. Shit. He felt like crap.

"Stop it, Dean," Logan's voice was right in his ear. "You can't force this, kid. They're both too stubborn. Let it go."

"Let it go?" he asked, feeling more dizzy even though he was sitting. "Xavier should like my dad if he likes me. I owe everything to my dad." Dean turned his head to see Logan and that stupid cigar. "Right?"

"Sure, kid," Logan assured him with a pat on his shoulder. "But you gotta let it go. Do ya hear me, Dean? You gotta stop now."

Large hands gripped his upper arms. Dean turned his head back to find Dad kneeling in front of him.

"Dean?" he said softly, the pressure on his arms increasing. "Son, it's all right. Honest. And this professor of yours, he kind of has a point." Were those tears in Dad's eyes? What the hell? "Son, relax before you hurt yourself. Please."

Please? Dad was begging him. Begging. Panic coupled with worry, dread, and some confusion filtered through the dizziness. Dean stared his father in the eye feeling the anxiety amp up; he could almost read what Dad was thinking in those worry lines around his eyes and in his forehead. What could Dad do with a son who was a mutant to keep him safe?

"It's okay, Dad," Dean assured him. "There are people here with blue fur and nobody cares. I can stay as long as I want. They like me here. Honest." He rubbed a hand over his head. "Shit, I have a monster headache."

"I'll bet," Dad said softly. One strong, callused hand wrapped around the side of his head, a rough thumb rubbing gently over his cheek. "Better?" he asked.

Dean nodded, relaxing back into the chair with Logan still holding him by the shoulder and worried-Dad shifting the hand to run it over his hair. He really did feel better for some odd reason. Warm emotions wrapped around him, cradling him in comfort. Even the stupid plastic chair felt better.

"It's over!" Beast called out from the door. "That was fantastic, best readings we've had yet. Professor, how do you feel?"

"Me?" He heard the soft whir of the electric motor of Xavier's chair. "Why are you inquiring about how I feel? And what readings?"

Dean forced his tired eyelids to open. "Is there any food left?"

"Bed." Dad's tone left no room for argument. Dean was half-carried back over to the fancy hospital bed and forced to lie down. Once he was settled, Dad's hand lingered on his shoulder. "I'm staying right here. Logan can go check on something else for you to eat."

"What do I look like? A damn waiter?" Logan demanded.

"The shirt would look stupid on you," Dean assured him.

Logan pulled a chair closer, kicking it back on two legs as he sat. "I'm stayin' right here, too." He glared at Dad. "Don't even think it, Bub."

"Bobby!" Dad shouted. "Dean's hungry!"

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby's grumble sounded so freaking normal it was instantly reassuring.

"Please, Professor," Beast was saying. "Come to the control room. I have some very exciting readings."

"Very well." Xavier paused to regard them. "Dean, I would like to have a discussion later, just the two of us." He frowned and rubbed at one temple. "Once I can recall what I need to speak with you about."

* * *

Xavier entered the isolation control room just behind Hank. "What is it?" he demanded. "I felt as if we were about to make a breakthrough."

"You did," Hank said mysteriously. "Allow me to replay these readings."

Xavier forced himself to be patient as Hank, a brilliant doctor and foremost authority on mutations, set up the replay. The video monitor replay had the capability of displaying the energy monitor readings with the same time stamp as a graph in the upper right hand corner.

"Watch this, Professor," Hank insisted. Charles nodded in agreement, wondering why his dear friend seemed so agitated.

As he watched the silent replay of the events in the isolation room his eyes kept straying to the energy monitor. At the very moment Dean jumped between him and the boy's father, the energy readings shot off the chart and stayed there.

"Good Lord," he breathed, following the sustained energy levels in amazement.

"Exactly," Hank agreed. "Now wait for it. Hunter maintains this level until Logan manages to partially break his concentration. Here." A blue furred finger jabbed at the screen when Logan rushed into the room, yelling for Dean to stop as he recalled. The graph in the corner dipped down, not within safety limits but at least back on the chart. "Next his father must have realized things were amiss, because he kneeled...here...and it stops." The energy readings dove back down to the levels maintained by endurance athletes during competition.

Hank turned to the current energy monitor and pointed out the well above average energy reading. "I believe this is Hunter's normal waking energy level with the mutant gene no longer dormant, or partially dormant. Since he has always been a rather aggressive eater, consuming high energy, protein and sugar foods may be enough to sustain this new metabolism during waking hours."

"And at night?" Charles asked. How odd the father had been able to sense a problem and he had not. Could John Winchester have built up a partial immunity to his son's mutant abilities?

"When unconscious, our patient's energy levels drop to average human norms for waking hours. He should be fine if he eats well before going to bed," Hank informed with a shrug.

"I doubt that will be a problem," Charles observed. "But tell me, why weren't we warned of this energy spike? Why did you allow it to happen?" Doctor McCoy would not allow an experiment to spiral out of control, it was very uncharacteristic.

"We tried," he replied in a heavy voice. "For several minutes Mister Singer, Logan and I attempted to attract your attention from outside the room. Eventually Logan decided he would have to enter and risk his perception being altered as well. If it had not been for Logan's interference, I fear Hunter would have pushed himself to the point of passing out or worse."

"Worse?" Charles demanded. "Please explain what you mean by 'or worse'."

Hank scratched behind one ear as his deep blue eyes avoided making contact. "According to my readings, if Hunter continued to exert his abilities at these new levels for much longer, he could drain his own body of the energy necessary to operate his lungs or his heart." Now Hank leveled a hard glare on him. "I must request no more direct confrontations with his father in front of him."

Stunned, he nodded slowly. "That was most...presumptuous of me. And irresponsible. I was well aware of the deep level of respect, commitment and adoration to the point of hero-worship he holds for his father. I will not make the same mistake again, I assure you, doctor."

Hank let out a low breath. "Thank you, sir. Perhaps I should assume the role of therapist?"

"Yes," Charles agreed. "It is also within your specialties."

He knew better, Charles realized as he stared sullenly at the figures on the monitor. Dean was in bed, surrounded by his father and Logan, who seemed to have struck an unspoken truce. Bobby Singer returned with a fresh meal; plenty of starches and calories, he noticed. Perhaps it had been irresponsible of him, but now they knew precisely what Dean capable of, and this was exactly what he had needed to know. If Dean could alter two people's perceptions to such an extent, with one of them a strong telepath, then a roomful of people being made to not take too much notice of a somewhat odd group should not prove too much of a challenge. Once Dean had a handle on his abilities, he could prove to be quite useful, especially in recon situations. Yes. Charles smiled to himself. Dean would be perfect for recon and in certain operations requiring subtlety. The only problem would be convincing Dean to cooperate. It would have to be very convincing. Perhaps his brother could use a larger scholarship?


	20. Chapter 20: Dad's Secret

**Chapter 20: Dad's Secret**

Thanks to a strict eating schedule, high calorie diet, and some meditation techniques, Dean managed to move out of isolation in less than two weeks. His life fell into a fairly comfortable routine of teaching his class, checking Bobby's files against Xavier's mutant files, having Beast run tests on him, Xavier working on ways to learn how his abilities worked, how to make the most of them, and what his limits were, and hanging out with Dad or Logan.

At first Dean had been shocked to discover Dad was taking those stupid therapy sessions with Beast seriously. Then IT happened. Dean wouldn't be able to forget IT. Ever. Not for the rest of his freaking life. IT began in Hank's study, where all of the stupid therapy took place. Hank's study had the same dark wood panels as the rest of the mansion, but large comfortable furniture in dark reds and blues. One wall was a filled bookshelf containing all kinds of medical and psychological reference volumes.

"Who the hell is Adam?" Dean demanded as he felt the guilt Dad had been carrying around grow. "And why were you at a freaking ballgame with him?"

Dad's face turned bright tomato red as his gaze dove to the floor and he shifted in the comfortable armchair. Dad mumbled something, a phrase Dean refused to believe he heard correctly. His gaze snapped back to Hank, dressed in a large suit which looked damned uncomfortable with all that fur.

"The hell did he say?" Dean demanded. Hank was stunned, his mouth hanging open as he stared a bit wide-eyed at Dad. Shit.

Dean shifted back to glare at his father. "Repeat that," he insisted. "The part that started with 'Adam is.'"

Dad cleared his throat a couple of times before blood-shot eyes lifted to lock with his. "My son," he said in a soft, gentle voice which ripped through Dean's heart with a bloody vengeance.

"Ballgame?" Dean asked, his anger mounting even as guilt threatened to overwhelm Dad. At the moment, however, he didn't give a shit.

The guilt spiked about then and Dad choked out something that sounded like 'birthday' but Dean really didn't want to hear it. Without a glance for either of the other men in the room, Dean stood up and left. He did not need this crap.

The huge mansion felt small and stuffy, every corner crammed with people. Dean brushed past them all, shaking off the few who attempted to speak with him. A slow roll of his shoulders before heading down the massive staircase allowed some energy to dissipate into the air around him, rendering him not invisible, but not worth notice. They might see him leave, but odds were no one would remember who it had been.

Outside the fresh air tasted stale, the promise of better things a bitter disappointment. Typical. So was his whole freaking life. Soap Operas were a pale imitation in comparison. A hungry growl erupted from his stomach and Dean snarled. He so did not need this crap. After pulling some stupid nutrition power-bar snack out of his pocket, the kind Hank had insisted he carry around because they packed more oomph than just a candy bar, he headed across the grounds without a destination in mind.

Now that he was aware of what he was doing, Dean could feel the energy he used to affect the way people saw him. It encased his body like a protective bubble. When the spot between his shoulderblades hurt, it was where the excess energy built up. A shake of his shoulders was all he needed to discharge it directly at someone. Professor Xavier seemed to think with practice he could learn to extend the normal bubble to other people, too, and not use as much energy as shaking it off. He was pretty sure the professor had an ulterior motive, but it sounded kind of cool.

The food supplement was long gone, the wrapper stuffed in his pocket, before he reached the steps of the school library. Professor Xavier had bragged when he first arrived about their library, how it rivaled Ivy League Universities. Well, hell, he knew his way around a library. Dean would be the judge of that. Granted it looked impressive from the outside, but the outside was just a building. What counted was on the inside. That's where you found out if you mattered or not. Uh, if the library was worthwhile.

With a shake of his head to clear it, Dean yanked on the front glass door. Cool air washed over him as he stepped into indirect ambient lighting. The light seemed to be everywhere and coming from noplace all at the same time. The bookshelves were wood with high dollar carved scrollwork along the top and bottom, which had been pretty much what he expected. More to distract himself than anything, Dean walked along the first aisle perusing the titles. Biographies. Yuck. He wandered in and out of the different sections, which seemed to just go on forever, until he hit mythologies and folklore.

With a shuddered gasp, Dean froze in the section. Books he had only ever seen at Bobby's, in much worse shape, lined the shelves. Almost reverently, one hand gently brushed the spines as he checked the titles. Aged cracked leather felt natural under his touch. He had spent hours pouring over copies of these very volumes while researching hunts. Some he recognized as titles which had been collected by Dad.

Dad.

His hand fell to his side as he performed an abrupt about-face to march out of that aisle. Now how was this place laid out? Surely there were other interesting areas. Anything would do at this point.

His gaze fell on a circular desk about twenty feet away. Two women sat inside the circle, one speaking with a student and the other checking in books. Had to be the information desk. Dean headed that way, still unsure what exactly he wanted to find here.

The woman helping out a student had black hair ending in deep purple, although he could not tell if it was on purpose or a result of her mutation. She spoke earnestly with the kid, completely absorbed in the girl's research problem. Dean turned to the woman checking in books. She had dark blond hair pulled back into a severe knot on the back of her head, glasses with wide black frames, and dressed in loose clothes which hid the figure she might have.

He stood in front of her and cleared his throat. For some odd reason the thought of being ignored was intolerable.

"Yes?" Her head lifted, an artificial smile on her pretty face. "May I help you?"

"Yeah." What did he want again? "I'm new around here. I was wondering if you could show me around."

Her vivid green eyes were large behind the glasses as she blinked slowly at him. She pulled them off, allowing the horrible things to hang from her neck by a matching black cord. He knew a simple smile and maybe a wink would have her falling all over herself to get out from inside that desk, but he didn't freaking feel like it. She would either give him the damn tour or he would finish it himself. He had already checked out about half of the place anyway. Why was he here? Since when did he need help?

"New?" she repeated. "Oh, uh, certainly. That shouldn't take long. Just a moment." After carefully arranging the books she had been checking in, she turned to hold a hushed conversation with the other woman. One section of the circular desk lifted up, allowing her to pass through. She held out a hand. "I'm The Librarian. I'm in charge here."

Dean nodded curtly as he shook her hand. "De- uh, Hunter."

"Nice to meet you, Hunter," she said pleasantly. The skin on her hand was warm and her grip firm. "I'm afraid I'm quite proud of our collections to date. Of course, I'm still working on expanding some areas of particular interest, such as the sections on genetics and physics, but we have an excellent foundation." He noticed her cheeks flush pink and some muted feelings of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, that sounded rather arrogant."

Dean shook his head. "Not if it's the truth. People really call you The Librarian?"

"Yes." The embarrassment felt more pronounced now. "I'm afraid so."

"Let me guess. Xavier came up with it, right?" Dean shook his head in disgust. "That man has no imagination. So other than the fact you work in the library, why are you The Librarian? Can you read books without opening them or something?" Yeah, so he was in a foul mood. So what? He was entitled.

"No," she said with a real smile. "It's because I love to read and I remember every book I've ever read."

Dean thought that over. "Every book? As in, you remember the plot, or you can quote it?"

The Librarian's smile widened. "Name a book and a page."

"Really?" He was stunned. She was prettier standing up, without those glasses on. "Uh, okay. Any type of book?"

She shrugged. "Anything in our library and about a quarter of the Library of Congress."

Now this sounded like a really cool ability to have. "Anything, uh..." His mind blanked. Great. Now he looked like a moron. "All right. How about Myths and Lore of Medieval Europe, page one hundred."

She closed her eyes. "There is a rather disgusting drawing, probably from a lithograph, of a dragon disemboweling a man." One bright green eye opened. "You really wanted me to check page one hundred?"

Dean chuckled. "Hey, I had to know if you were for real. That was the only one I knew off the top of my head."

Both eyes opened and her gaze swept over him. He could feel that she was curious but also that she wanted to hurry. "Would you like to start with the mythology section?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I found it already. Just show me what you have here. That area on physics might be interesting. I never made it past high school physics."

"All right. Follow me."

Following her was rather nice. The loose clothes weren't too loose and clung subtly around her waist, hinting at the kind of curves which normally had him acting like a dog in heat. How odd he didn't feel like it today. Dean followed The Librarian around, memorizing the layout. Once the concept behind the way the library had been laid out was explained, it was very easy to follow. Dean thanked her politely, to which she felt relief so he figured he had been keeping her from work. He browsed through the pop culture section which had two shelves devoted to movies and behind the scenes movie-making. Dean picked up one book to take to a table. He knew he wouldn't be able to dodge Dad forever, but he also knew he wouldn't need to. All he had to do was stay out of the way for an hour or so to give his father enough time to pack and hightail it out of town. John Winchester never stayed where he was not wanted.

* * *

John thrust another handful of clothes into his duffel. "Stupid damn therapy," he groused. "You'd think I'd know when to keep my mouth shut by now."

"Ya would."

He didn't bother to look at the door to see who was there. "What do you want, Logan? Come to gloat?"

"Nah." There was a derisive snort. "I ain't like that, Bub. Not that you'd know."

John dropped his duffel to face the asshole who dared called himself Dean's friend. More like some mutant recruiter. John suspect this Logan character slipped something into Dean's food or drink when he wasn't looking to give him this so-called mutant gene.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" John demanded. "I suppose this goes along with being a lousy father, right?"

Logan stared at him, never breaking eye contact. "You said it, not me." He pulled a half-chewed cigar from his shirt pocket to wave in the air. "I ain't the one packing, either." The cigar entered his mouth to be clamped firmly between his teeth. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"So whenever the going gets a little rough, you light out, huh?" The cigar wobbled as he spoke. The movement was nearly hypnotic. "Did ya do that when they was kids too? Get mad and just take off? Might explain a few things," he said with a nod.

"Like?" John asked, his blood near boiling. He knew he was a fuck-up, he certainly didn't need grief from this...this...why the hell was Logan here in the first place?

"Like why Dean's brother is at college and don't talk to him," Logan said calmly, as if they always discussed intimately personal family events.

"That's none of your business," he snapped, turning his back to resume packing.

"See, I figure you two had some big fight," Logan continued. "Then Sam, that's his name, right? Sam, he lit out like you're about to. And never called either. Is that what you're planning?"

John ignored the busybody jackass, grabbing a whole drawer full of clothes at once and stuffing them inside his duffel. Who cared if they were a little wrinkled?

"Because I got ta tell ya, that's a huge mistake." Logan sighed.

It wasn't really the piercing, stabbing words which demanded his attention, it was the sigh. It was a singular, lonely sound, heavy with history and sadness. John turned slowly, allowing Logan a little of his time.

"Dean, he don't understand what's happening to him or why. Nobody does in the beginning. Later, you just kind of get used to it." He shrugged. "It really ain't so bad. But you walkin' out on him? Now?" Logan's head shook slowly, the cigar held tightly between his teeth. Without sparing another word, he left John staring numbly after him.

Crap. He dropped the shirts still clenched in one fist to the bed as he sat heavily. An image of Dean lying on the ground, eyes glazed over with paramedics crowded around him, burst into his mind. Logan was right, he couldn't leave. Not now. Not ever. There might be a way to fix this. He could never fix all of his mistakes, there were far too many for far too many years, however he might be able to fix this. John slowly pulled out his cell to stare at it for a moment before pressing one of his speed dials.

"Hello?" Adam's mother Kate answered the phone.

John swallowed hard. He had a lot of things to make up for in his life. "It's me. I, uh, was wondering..." He swallowed again, his mouth gone dry.

"John? What is it?" she asked. "Is anything wrong?"

Hell yes, he thought bitterly. I just busted myself during a god-damned therapy session.

"No, no. Nothing like that. I just, uh...." John breathed deeply before breaking the news. "I want to introduce Adam to my oldest son. Dean."

"Your oldest son?" she said in a whisper. After a moment Kate asked, "How many sons do you have?"

"Not including Adam? Two." John raked a hand through his hair and found himself wishing he could just shake out his shoulders and make the people around him do what he wanted.

"Two." A puff of a sigh came through the phone. "Well, that does explain why you're so good with him. How old are they?"

"Dean is twenty-three. Sam's nineteen, away at college," John explained, hoping she wouldn't ask why Sam wasn't part of the request.

"Well, as long as he agrees to the same ground rules, I guess I can't exactly say no, can I? What, uh, is your oldest son like?" she asked.

"He's..." John hesitated. How to describe Dean? "Indescribable. You'll love him, I promise. It's just that, well, I finally told him about Adam."

"Oh, I see. And he wants to meet my son? Well, that is sweet," Kate gushed. "Now I can't wait to meet him. When?"

"Oh, I'll have to get back to you on that. I wanted to run it by you first before we set a date," John said hurriedly. The halls echoed with a hundred footsteps. Class must be out for the day. He checked his watch, it was nearly time for dinner. Dean couldn't miss a meal. "Thanks, Kate. I owe you one."

"No, I think I still owe you," she replied before hanging up.

Maybe, but he was still in debt. Big time. Just not to her.

* * *

Knowing he wouldn't have to face Dad for weeks, maybe even a month or so, Dean relaxed in the dining hall. Logan wasn't around, but Nightcrawler and Banshee kept him company during dinner. He was really liking it here. Since word was spreading that he really did 'belong', everyone had been going out of their way to make him feel welcome. Even Cyclops was being tolerable. It seemed to be the mutant thing to do.

After a few helpings, Dean excused himself from the table to head to his room. He was exhausted, his feet clomping heavily up the stairs announcing how tired he was to the world.

"Professor?"

Dean's head snapped up at the girl's voice. Kitty Pryde peered out from around a polished wood column at the top of the stairs. She lifted one hand to wave shyly.

"Hey, Kitty." Dean plastered on a smile. "What's up?"

She glanced around before stepping closer and her arms wrapped over her chest. He noted the defensive posture and furtive glances around.

"Want to talk in the rec room?" Dean offered. "Almost everyone is at dinner."

Kitty bit down on her lower lip before nodding. She walked right through the wall behind her. Startled, Dean stared at the spot she had disappeared through. Her head popped back through the wall. "Are you coming or what?"

"Uh, yeah. I'll, uh, use the door." Dean motioned five feet to his right. Kitty shrugged at him before sliding back through the wall. He wondered if he would ever get used to this place.

He was right, the rec room was empty save for them. Dean settled on the couch and motioned for Kitty to join him.

She sat nervously a few feet away. "Professor? Uh, well, there's this rumor..." Kitty sighed, arms tightening over her chest and her gaze downcast.

"What rumor?" Dean asked gently. Not only did she look uptight, the poor kid was a bundle of nerves. She was scared and nervous and upset and a hundred other things he couldn't possibly identify but were making him more anxious by the moment. At least it was obvious these were the emotions of a teenage girl. God, it was amazing she could make it to class and learn anything if this was going on all the time.

"About you," she whispered. Her head lifted to reveal red-rimmed eyes. "Is it true?"

Dean gave her a smile. "I don't know. Which rumor did you hear?"

"Th-that you really are a mutant. Like us." She sniffled.

"Is that a bad thing?" Dean asked, confused. He was pretty sure this wasn't the part that had her upset.

Kitty shook her head. "It's just... Your class is fun, you know? And I like doing your homework. Then it kind of, I don't know, spills over into my other homework. Class is easy when you study." She glanced up again. "I got two A's and a B on my last tests. I don't want you to leave."

Dean chuckled at her. "I'm part-time, Kitty. I have to leave because I have another job, but I'll be back." Then again, considering what happened earlier today... "And I doubt I'll be leaving any time soon anyway."

Kitty smiled at him, a real smile. Her relief and happiness washed over him. "Really? And if you have to go, you will come back?"

"Sure. I like my job here. Where else can I go hang out with people who have blue fur, huge claws that shoot out their hands, laser eyes, can walk through walls, float in the air, uh..." There were more. "...throw lightning bolts, oh, and poof around leaving stinky-"

A pillow slapped him in the face. "Hey!" Dean laughed as he knocked it away. "What was that for?"

Kitty laughed, grabbing for another pillow. Dean couldn't believe he was actually engaging in a pillow fight with a teenage girl. Then pillows began pummeling him from behind. He glanced back to discover about a dozen kids helping Kitty out, dismantling the couches to throw the cushions at him. He felt no malice in the room, just excitement and fun. Well, what the hell? He deserved a little fun.

Dean defended himself as best he could, but he was simply outnumbered and too tired to fight back anymore. He collapsed on the cushion-less couch, giving the teens the opportunity to pile on.

"What's all the noise in here?" A male voice demanded. Dean wondered if he would be able to identify it if it weren't being filtered by the dozen cushions and kids on top of him.

"Move! Move! Let's go, people! Move it! Move it!!"

God, it almost sounded like Dad. But Dad had to be in the next state at least by now. It was a little difficult to breathe under here, between the weight and the cushions.

"Up! Move it! Move it!"

The weight lessened, body by body. Finally the cushions were removed from his head by grinning teens.

"Man, Professor Hunter! That was too cool!" Joe from his class enthused.

Feeling physically as well as emotionally drained, Dean tried to leverage himself up when an arm appeared in front of him. His brain on automatic Dean accepted the help, not realizing who the arm belonged to until he was on his feet.

Dad met his eyes with a steady gaze, kind of catching him off-guard. Then Dad spun back on the kids. "All right, people! Let's see you put this place back in order! Move-it! Move-it! Where do these cushions go? Hup-hup!" Dad's large hands clapped loudly in the room and Dean was about to follow orders, but one of those hands grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside. The kids scurried around the room, retrieving thrown cushions and racing to fit the pieces together to recreate the couches. It was kind of funny and Dean would've laughed, except Dad was at the center of this madhouse. What was Dad even doing here?

Once the couches again had the appearance of regular furniture, Dad crossed his arms over his chest and gave the kids his best imposing glare. "Don't you have homework? Do I need to check with some of your teach-" The kids bolted out of both doors. "-ers?"

Dad nodded at the empty rec room. "Wish I'd thought of that when you and Sam were kids. But it wouldn't have made a difference with you, would it?" He turned to face Dean again, a small smile playing on his face. "Would it?" he repeated weakly.

"Nope," he replied flatly. "You're still here?"

Dad sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Now there was tension in the room accompanied by the familiar worry. "Yeah, I'm still here," he said with a sigh. "Dean, we need to work this out."

"Work what out?" Dean demanded, heading out the door. "You don't need me anyway, you have a spare!"

The move was so fast, he didn't have time to react. Suddenly Dean faced the other way, Dad's nose barely an inch from his.

"Don't," Dad breathed heavily. Both hands fisted in his shirt and shook him, but not hard. "Don't say that."

Now the worry doubled but it was laced with something else, something tart and strong. Dean's eyes widened as he realized Dad was scared.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked, the thought of Dad being scared doing all kinds of horrible things to his stomach.

"I can't... I won't..." Dad was breathing heavy and staring at him with a weird expression. "Sam's gone. You can't..." Dad's strong arms wound around him, crushing Dean with a massive hug. "Sorry," Dad whispered in his ear. "Dean...please. Just... Talk to me."

"Need...air," Dean gasped into his father's shoulder.

Dad released him instantly, the acrid taste of fear sharp. Dean stepped back to study his father for a moment before jerking his head to one side. He left the rec room to head for the instructors wing, Dad following close but not close enough to crowd him. Unfortunately Dad was still close enough for all of his emotions to churn heavily around Dean, battering his every step. As if he weren't already tired, now he had to deal with this crap. Why didn't Dad leave?

Back in his room, Dean crashed on the bed, stretching out and finally resting his weary body. "So talk," he said, his voice more bitter than he had intended.

"Now son, I don't blame you for being mad," Dad began. Dean rolled his eyes. Mad didn't come close. "But I didn't know he existed before last year. I swear. And I didn't know how to tell you."

"So you've known about this kid for a year," Dean began. "You've been sneaking off to see him. But you didn't know how to tell me. Why?"

The bitter fear enveloped him and Dean was tempted to shrug it off, but despite his own anger he was curious about what would make Dad afraid. It wasn't like there was some big ugly monster after him, although Dean felt pretty confident it wouldn't take much convincing for Logan to fill that role.

Dad pulled the only chair in the room over beside his bed. He sat heavily on the chair, the wood creaking with the effort of holding Dad up. He lowered his head and scratched at his scalp, fear and anxiety filling the room. Now what?


	21. Chapter 21: Dad's Deal

**Chapter 21: Dad's Deal**

"Dean, you're all I have," Dad said softly. When his head lifted, his eyes had an odd watery look. "I lost your mom. I pushed Sam away." He sighed heavily and extreme sorrow seeped through the guilt, settling over the guilt and pressing it out of the way. Dean felt tears well in his eyes at the oppressive emotion, an offending drop escaping to streak down his cheek.

"I thought I lost you," Dad told him in slow measured tones. "You've always..." His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping under the skin. "You're always there for me. I can't imagine..." A short laugh, harsh and bitter, broke out of Dad. "I can't even say it."

His head hung low again and turned from side to side. Dean waited, but Dad seemed to have run out of words. His emotions, however, churned more violently than Dean could ever remember except, maybe, right after Mom died. It was difficult to remember things from when he was little, but a few memories were sharp and clear, forever etched in his mind with precision detail. One night after Mom was gone, when it was just the three of them living in some dump of a motel, Dad sat in the floor holding a clear bottle full of brown stuff in his hands while he stared at the bed Dean shared with baby Sammy. Dean peered over the pillows surrounding them, there to keep Sammy safe in bed, to watch Dad. Tears poured from Dad's eyes and the expression on his face was...just like the one Dad wore now.

A shudder ran through his body at the memory. Even though he wouldn't have been able to put it into words, Dean was pretty sure this was how Dad felt that night too.

Crap. He couldn't even stay mad when he wanted.

Dean swung out of bed, landing lightly on his feet by his father. He dropped to one knee in order to draw Dad into a loose embrace, unsure how exactly this would play out. To his shock, Dad leaned into him, burying watery eyes in his shoulder. Not knowing what he was supposed to do, Dean did the only thing he could think of, he tightened his hold. Dad's hands, rough from years of hunting yet always gentle when checking for injuries or cleaning open wounds, fisted in the back of his shirt and pulled him in even closer.

"It's okay, Dad," Dean heard himself murmur comfortingly as his own cheeks grew wet. "It's all right." He rubbed one hand in large circles over Dad's back, trying to calm his father down. At least if Dad calmed down, he wouldn't have to feel this torrent of sorrow and despair. Being an empath could be downright depressing.

* * *

Now that the floodgates had opened, John was powerless to close them. They had threatened to burst the night he saw Dean fall, the night he had believed Dean was...gone. Dean should be furious with him, probably was, but his son held him and whispered comforting phrases while he fell apart.

Finally John managed to pull himself together enough to wipe the tears from his face and pull away from his son, though the act of loosening Dean's hold nearly killed him. He held on with one hand, unwilling to let Dean go far.

"We never deserved you," he choked out.

Surprise flashed across Dean's face. "What?" His head shook before John could answer. "Come on, Dad. The floor is killing me."

Dean made him sit on the bed, one strong arm over his shoulders. John wanted to lean into it, to bury his face in his son's shoulder again, but pride prevented it this time. He was supposed to be the parent here, and there were a few things his son needed to know.

John scrubbed both hands over his face, trying to hold it together long enough to explain.

"You've always been there for me," John said slowly. "You took care of me, Dean, and you shouldn't have had to do that."

"Dad-" Dean began to protest, but John shook his head and his son fell silent.

"You took care of me and Sammy. Both of us. And we never appreciated it, Dean. We took you for granted. You know, I remember..." John swallowed hard as a few more tears trekked down his cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his hand. "I'd come home from a hunt and be just wrecked, from the things I'd seen. And you, you'd come up, put a hand on my shoulder, you'd look me in the eye and tell me, "It's okay, Dad."" He chewed his lower lip. "I'm sorry, Dean."

His son looked genuinely confused and startled. Good God, had he leaned so hard on Dean that the boy thought this was the way his life was supposed to be?

"For what, Dad?" Dean asked gently.

He felt the tears threatening again. "You did all that," John choked out, "and never complained. Not once." He swallowed hard. "You never should've had to do that, Dean. Not any of it. That's my fault."

Dean frowned and shook his head. "Dad, are you feeling all right? Maybe we should go see Hank."

John drew in a deep breath as he turned to face his oldest. He gripped Dean by both shoulders and held on tight. "That night when you came to find me, I thought I'd lost you to the things we hunt. I couldn't believe what a failure I had been. I blamed myself for not paying enough attention, for taking it for granted that you would always be on my side, for..." He shook his head, unwilling to give voice to the rest of the idiotic things he had been thinking that horrible night. "Then you fell."

John swallowed hard, the memory as sharp and clear as broken shards of glass, his emotions from that night just as horrible and frightening as if it were happening now.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing. Believe me, if I could take it back, I would," Dean assured him, the innocence on his face making him appear so damned young.

"No," John whispered. "I got what I deserved, son. Exactly what I deserved." He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue without dissolving into an emotional mess again. When he opened his eyes he found Dean staring at him curiously. "I deserved to see what it felt like to lose you, because I never considered it before. All those times I used you as bait, that I led you into situations without telling you all the facts, not once did I ever consider the possibility you wouldn't walk out of there with me. Not once." He shifted his hands from his son's shoulders to frame his face, to force Dean to look him in the eye. "I guess maybe I thought of you as indestructible."

Now Dean's face split in a grin with a chuckle. "That's not me, that's you, Dad." But there was still indecision in those mossy green eyes when John dropped his hands back to the broad shoulders which had held too many burdens.

"I don't think it's either of us," John admitted reluctantly. "And I don't want you hunting alone. You can take the lead, sometimes, but from now on I want you to have back-up. Your Professor friend has been hounding me about it for the past week. He seems to think you're too valuable to risk out hunting at all." He gave his son a sad smile. "But I told him I wouldn't order you to quit, that's your call."

Dean shook his head. "I don't want to quit, Dad. You know that. Saving people, killing things, it's the family business."

John smiled as he noted Dean held saving people above the rest. "I really don't deserve a son like you."

Dean squirmed like a little kid, clearly unable to handle a little praise. "It's kind of creepy to hear you talking like this, Dad."

"Get used to it," John snapped. "It's how I should've been talking to you your whole life. I can't fix the past, but I can change now." He ran a hand up the back of Dean's head, ruffling the short strands as best he could. "I'll probably screw up a lot, start sounding the way I used to, but I promise to work on it. Just...don't die on me. Deal?"

He waited for an answer but Dean sat there with a bewildered and nearly vacant look on his face. "Deal?" he pressed, squeezing his son's shoulders.

"You're going to keep seeing him, aren't you?" Dean asked, stiffness creeping into his shoulders.

God, Dean normally asked for so little. "I'd like to," John admitted. "But I won't if you don't want me to." He wet his lips before making his request. "Before you make up your mind, why don't you meet him?"

Dean's eyes bugged out. "Meet him? Why the hell would I want to meet the kid you've actually taken to a ballgame?"

Oh, crap. "You might like him, Dean. He's a good kid." John shrugged. "He's not you, of course."

Dean's eyes rolled, a much more natural gesture. "Okay, enough already." He let out a large sigh. "I don't know, Dad. I'll have to think about it."

"But our deal?" John pressed. "I was serious about that."

The oh-so familiar lop-sided grin appeared, instilling hope in John. "The one where you're going to be nice if I don't _die_?" He chuckled. "Yeah, okay, sure thing, Dad. Now go to your room. I need sleep."

John stared at his son for a moment before grabbing him in another bear-hug. He was gratified when Dean returned it instead of trying to squirm away. John returned to his room hoping tomorrow would be a much, much, much better day.

* * *

Dean had enough time to stretch out in bed again when there was a knock at his door. Jesus, now what?

"Who is it?" he demanded without bothering to sit up.

"Logan," came the gruff answer.

Dean rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "It's not locked."

The door opened with a whine of the hinges, Logan stepping into the room still dressed in jeans and a work shirt. "Hey, kid," he said as he closed the door behind him. "So." Logan turned to face him. "How are, uh, things?"

Dean glared at him, feeling Logan's emotions ranged from pissed off to concerned. "You heard the whole thing with Dad, didn't you?" he guessed.

"I got good ears," Logan replied with a shrug. "So talk."

With a groan, Dean swung his legs off his bed yet again this evening. So much for a good night's sleep. "About?"

Now he was on the receiving end of a nasty glare. "Kid, you just found out you got another little brother. Don't that bother you at least?"

"Logan," he said on a sigh, "I'm totally exhausted. The last thing I want to think about is... Holy crap. I have another brother?" Dean's eyes snapped to Logan's. "Shit, I never thought about it like that. As if Sam weren't enough to deal with." He collapsed back on his bed, feet still planted firmly on the floor. "Well this is just frigging wonderful."

"You said Sam don't exactly talk to you," Logan said slowly. "This kid could be different."

Dean lifted one hand to rub over his face. "Dude, I can't think about this any more today. It's just too much."

"Yeah, well, I'm next door." He heard the squeak of the hinges. "You don't have to yell loud."

"Obviously," Dean mumbled.

"I heard that!" Logan said through the closed door.

Dean couldn't help smiling to himself. Being a freaky mutant wasn't so bad with guys like Logan around. He had no idea what to do with Dad's roller-coaster emotions right now, which were partially his fault, but it was pretty clear that he would have to figure it out because Dad wasn't going anywhere. Feeling more relief at the realization than he thought he would, Dean stretched out on the bed again. Maybe now he would be able to sleep.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes to bright light shining from under his door. People were up. He rolled over to grab his cell to see the time. Eleven? As in, he slept through the morning? Not believing the digital read-out, Dean slammed it against his palm a few times.

"No way," he muttered. "Crap!" He jumped out of bed, yanking his shirt from yesterday off. After swiping hurriedly at his underarms and applying fresh deodorant, he pulled on a fresh shirt. Dean opened his door to an empty hallway and sunlight streaming in from the stairwell. Crap, he really had overslept. A loud grumble from his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since last night.

Making a bee-line for the kitchen, Dean realized halfway down the staircase that he was still in his socks. Well, hell, shoes would wait for after breakfast or, uh, brunch. Nah, only sissies ate brunch. He could skip straight to lunch.

No one was eating lunch this early and the cooks were still preparing the meal but Dean really couldn't wait. Not only was his stomach bitching and complaining, but he was kind of light-headed too. As he cut through the large cafeteria heading for the staff kitchen where he should be able to scrounge something up without being in the way, he heard his name, his real name.

"Dean!"

A glance over his shoulder revealed Dad hurrying over. Dean maintained his pace for the smaller side kitchen and waved a hand inviting Dad along. After watching his father dissolve into a mushy emotional wreck last night, it was good to see some normalcy this morning. Er- today. He hit the doors without slowing, bursting into the nearly empty staff kitchen. Hank was in there waiting on his tea to boil.

"Hunter," Hank greeted. "Where have you been? I missed you at breakfast."

"Overslept," Dean said as he yanked open the fridge. Oh, what was that? It smelled great and most of it was left. He snagged it with one hand and glanced around for where they kept the forks while kicking the door closed.

"Here," Hank offered, fork in hand.

"Awesome, thanks," Dean said as he made a grab for it. Oh, God, yes! It was sweet and creamy and delicious. "What is this stuff?" he mumbled around a mouthful.

"Cheesecake," Dad said in his normal deep voice, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Doc, since he's obviously planning on eating the whole thing, by himself, is that all right? Or do I need to find some real food for him?"

"First time you've eaten today?" Hank asked, his furry brow wrinkling up like one of those dogs with too much skin. Dean nodded, shoveling in more. "In that case, I would suggest finding foods high in carbohydrates and proteins for after dessert." He turned to look at Dad. "After not eating for over twelve hours, your son requires the sugar and fat for quick conversion to energy."

"On it," Dad said sharply, as if addressing a superior officer. It was weird to hear Dad taking orders, especially from someone with blue freaking fur. Dean chuckled as he watched, setting his food down on the counter while he ate. Like a seasoned pro, Dad rummaged in the cabinets and refrigerator. He set out potatoes, bacon, onion, fresh bell peppers, butter and some seasonings. A skillet and cutting board appeared next. Dean continued to decimate the cheesecake (why hadn't he heard of this stuff before? It was awesome!) while watching Dad. First everything was washed before being set on the cutting board, except the bacon. Dad chopped up all the potatoes and some of the onion and bell peppers.

"My tea is ready and I have a lot of work to do. Gentlemen." With a nod of his head, Hank excused himself from the kitchen. Dean waved a full fork as Hank walked past.

Next Dad shifted his focus to the stove. He heated up the skillet. After cooking the bacon and laying it out on paper towels to absorb the grease, Dad poured the grease out into an empty can he found under the sink. Next he added all of his chopped ingredients to the hot sizzling skillet with plenty of butter. He sprinkled some seasonings over the whole mess before stirring it all up. Dean used his fork to scrape up the last remnants of the cheesecake while he watched. Dad seemed happy enough cooking away. There weren't any turbulent emotions or that horrible worry. After depositing his dirty dish in the dishwasher, Dean hopped up on the counter to sit and watch.

"Did you make this up?" Dean asked curiously.

"Huh?" Dad stirred his creation.

"I said, did you make this up?" Dean repeated.

Dad shook his head. "I was on a hunt in this little nothing town, you know the type. It took me about a week to figure out who was haunting the local school." He never turned around, maintaining his focus on the skillet. "Every morning I ate breakfast in the same diner, because it was the only one around. They called this breakfast potatoes."

"Have you ever cooked it before?" Dean asked.

"Just for me," Dad replied with a shrug. He grabbed the bacon, which had been cooling on the counter, to crumble over the sizzling potatoes. "You and Sammy were into the Lucky Charms about then."

Dean chuckled. "Sammy always got the last freaking bowl, too. I think he knew when I'd been saving it."

Dad paused to look thoughtfully over his shoulder at Dean. "Really?"

Dean nodded with a grin. It was nice hanging out with Dad like this and it felt like a huge weight had been removed from his shoulders. He could breathe easily. Before he knew it, Dad was handing him a plate and a clean fork.

"It'd suck mixed with that cheesecake," Dad explained, using one hand to hop up and sit on the counter next to Dean. "Go ahead. Try it."

Dean stabbed a large chunk of potato with his fork to place tenderly in his mouth since it was steaming hot. He chewed gingerly until it cooled to the temperature of his tongue. "Mmmm," he mumbled. "Not bad."

Dad snorted before taking a bite himself. "It's perfect," Dad stated defensively with a cheek full of potato. "You know, we're going to have to replace that cheesecake." He motioned to the dishwasher.

Dean eyed his father apprehensively. "How?"

"The grocery store," Dad said giving him an odd look. "You know they sell stuff like that there, right?"

Dean shrugged as his fork dove back to his plate. "Oh, that reminds me, I need to buy shampoo. You can buy that there too, right?"

Dad's plate lowered slowly to his lap. "Son, you are messing with me. Right?"

Dean shrugged as he shoveled in more food. "Uh, yeah. Sure." He swallowed what was in his mouth before asking his next question. "So I need to go to the, uh, shampoo store?"

One of Dad's hands lifted to rub at his forehead. "I'll go with you to the store after your class. Show you around."

"Usually I just use what the motel has," Dean tried to explain. "I don't shop many places other than the gas station convenience store. Logan's sharing his with me, but he's about out, so I owe him a bottle too."

A new guilt, one Dean had not felt before, came from his father. "Dean, I said I'd show you around the store later. Now eat before you pass out."

"Yes, sir." As he ate, he noticed a new emotion from Dad, this one of barely suppressed amusement. "What is it, Dad?"

Dad grinned broadly and shook his head. "I can't wait to show you the frozen foods aisle."

"Why?" he asked. "What's the big deal with ice cream?"

Dad shook his head again. "It's not the food, son. It's the fact you haven't been shopping there." He chuckled lightly. "Believe it or not, it's a great place to meet women."

Dean looked at his father in disbelief. "Now you're messing with me, right?"

Dad laughed with a huge smile. "Son, it's good to know that I still have a few things to teach you." Dad tossed him a wink and Dean puzzled over his father's good mood. Well, maybe he hadn't been the only one who needed a decent night's sleep.

* * *

John really wanted to ask if Dean had thought about meeting Adam, but between Dean's good mood this morning and his own, he couldn't force himself to bring it up and potentially spoil things. Instead he focused on the here and now, sitting with his son and enjoying a really late breakfast.


	22. Chapter 22: The Adam Business

**Chapter 22: The Adam Business**

The tour of the grocery store was relatively uneventful. John showed Dean where to find the toothpaste and shampoo. Dean picked out a couple of bags worth of fresh fruit, his eyes bulging over that section. It made John feel even guiltier that his son had never shopped outside of a lousy convenience store, and he had never noticed.

Next John picked up about three cheesecakes to add to their cart. Then he insisted on loitering in the frozen foods until a woman wearing a t-shirt walked past. She leaned over to check the prices on some frozen dinners and John nudged Dean. He felt his son stiffen next to him.

"Oh," Dean said softly as the woman selected a few boxes to place in her cart. "I really need to come here more often."

"Everyone has to eat," John agreed. "Speaking of, do we need ice cream? That institute of yours doesn't seem to stock it. Hey, you can try out that new bank card of yours at the checkout. They said it should be working."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dad, I swear, I think you're excited about the fact I have an actual checking account."

John gave his son a guilty smile. "To be honest, this life is closer to what I had hoped for you when you were little. Before... Before the fire."

Dean stared hard at him. "You mean, being a mutant?"

John cuffed his son lightly upside the head. "No, smart-ass. The part about being a school teacher." He gave Dean a shove in the shoulder. "So did you want anything else? Or are we done here?"

"I'm good," Dean replied. "Besides I need to work on some lesson plans."

John chuckled at Dean. "Now those are words I never thought I'd hear you say."

Dean returned his chuckle. "I'll bet."

They paid for their purchases and Dean's new bank card worked as promised. John insisted on loading the bags into the Impala's back seat. He sat next to his son ready to drive back to the Institute.

"I don't suppose you've thought about meeting him?" he asked tentatively as his son started the motor.

Dean sighed deeply. "I'm working on it, Dad. Just don't push, all right? I'm working on it."

John nodded feeling sorely disappointed. He would like to resolve the Adam issues, one way or the other. The fact they were still hanging over him like a large black cloud was disturbing.

* * *

Dean sat in the school library, which really could rival any Ivy League University's library, with a book open on the table in front of him while he stared at the the bookshelf across the way. What in the hell was he going to do about this Adam business?

So much for all of Dad's condom lectures. He snort-chuckled to himself over the irony, no real humor in it.

"Excuse me?" a soft feminine voice asked. Dean's head snapped to the side as he jumped in his seat. Usually it was difficult to sneak up on him, he must have been really distracted. It was The Librarian, her glasses hanging from her neck over a brown and purple floral print poofy blouse. "I'm sorry, but you've been sitting here staring into space for the last hour. Is everything all right?"

Genuine concern, the kind good people had regarding total strangers, blasted through Dean's introspection. He blinked at her several times trying to gather his thoughts. "Not really," he admitted. "But it's nothing serious. Just a, uh, personal dilemma. Of a friend of mine," he added hastily. No reason for his personal business to spread all over this school.

"A friend?" A small smile appeared, and she was much cuter when she smiled. The Librarian pulled out the chair next to his, at the end of the table. "Sometimes it helps to talk to a perfect stranger," she said. "And my shift just ended."

He tried to protest that he did not need to talk about it, but the desire to help flooded him and he realized continuing to resist would either be useless or hurt her feelings. Now that he experienced when feelings were hurt, Dean was actively avoiding it if he could.

"All right," he sighed in defeat. Her smile widened. "My friend, his father just announced that he has another son from an affair about thirteen or fourteen years ago. Now he doesn't know what to do about it."

"The father or your friend?" she asked. She had nice eyes. They were a speckled blue-green, the colors shifting from bright blue at the iris to deep green at the outside edge. Stunning really. "Hunter?"

"Oh, uh, my friend," he stammered. "He's not real happy about the whole thing, and his father asked him to meet this other son."

"Oh, my," The Librarian breathed out. "Now that does sound like a dilemma."

Dean spread his hands in front of him over the table – told ya. She frowned and stared off into space up towards the ceiling, her jaw resting in one palm while her fingertips drummed lightly against her cheek. The movement of her fingers was hypnotic. He found himself staring and not focusing on his issues. The Librarian, however, was deeply focused. She desperately wanted to help and there was some fear mixed in there, fear of giving bad advice Dean guessed. He waited patiently, perfectly content to watch her puzzle over his situation.

"Is your friend on good terms with his father?" she asked, eyes still pinned to that distant point.

"Well, he thought they were, then his dad was real mad at him, then they were on good terms again, and now this happened," Dean replied, wondering if that was too vague.

"Oh!" Her head snapped to the side to look at him. "Well, that would explain why his father told him."

One of Dean's eyebrows arched. "It would? Why?"

"No secrets," she replied. "Hiding big things like that never works out. They always jump out at the wrong time to bite you in the ass."

He couldn't help but smile at this mousy librarian's choice of words. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," she said with a serious nod. "The fact his father revealed the other child, a half-sibling, after a big falling out... It was a big falling out?"

Dean nodded, intrigued by her thought process.

"Well, the fact his father made this huge revelation means he doesn't want another falling out. You see, his father is scared of losing his son, so he wants to reveal all the potential sources for creating dissonance between them," she explained. "By bringing them up himself instead of his son accidentally discovering them, the potential conflicts become less critical in nature and easier to work through." She eyed him shrewdly. "Is any of this making sense?"

"That depends," Dean replied slowly. "Does dissonance mean conflict?"

"Well, it's closer to disagreement, but yes," she replied.

"I think I see why they call you The Librarian," he told her. "Do you think he should meet this half-brother he never heard of before yesterday?"

She shrugged casually. "The relationship with his father is the real crux of your question. Would not meeting the half-brother place additional strain on their relationship? Then yes, they should meet. If not, then I'd say it's entirely up to how he views the matter. I mean, does he consider the other son not to be family simply because they've never met? Or is the other son already family by virtue of genetics?"

Hope flowed through her as she watched him carefully. She certainly wasn't stupid, so she had probably figured out from the start that he was the friend in question, and now she wanted to know if she had been helpful.

"I'll talk to him about it," Dean said. "Thanks, you've given both of us a lot to think about."

She flashed a bright smile at him. "Good. Glad to hear it. We do have a decent selection on family dynamics and psychology."

"It seems kind of awkward to call you The Librarian," he explained. "Don't you have a nickname?"

She shook her head, the tight knot of hair on the back of her head not wobbling in the slightest. "No. Sorry."

"You need one," he informed her. "How about Libby?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I don't know if I like that." But he was certain she did not dislike it.

"Think about it." He left the open book on the table, now noticing his stomach complaining loudly. "I need to grab something to eat."

She looked down at her watch. "It's only three," she told him. "You can't wait until dinner?"

"Nope. Doctor's orders." Dean grinned at her confusion. "Long story. Thanks again."

"Let me know how it works out?" she called out as he walked away. Dean made a noncommittal wave at her. She was cute, but way too smart for the likes of him.

* * *

John had spent several days sitting on pins and needles waiting for Dean's proclamation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he announced that he would meet Adam. Then John wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or scared shit-less. Kate was nearly as excited as Adam, who hadn't known he had an older brother.

The first few hours or so of their trip were in relative silence, only music filling the car. After a pit stop for gas and to pick up some of Dean's favorite junk food, his son began asking rather innocent sounding questions about Adam. Dean wanted to know what he looked like, how he fared in school, and whether or not he was athletic. John answered the questions he could, begging off on quite a few because he honestly did not know the answers. Oddly, when he couldn't answer a question instead of being irritated, Dean seemed relieved.

Before they arrived at Adam's house, Dean insisted on renting a room. John was perplexed until he realized his son wanted to shower and change in order to make a good first impression.

"Son, I really don't think it'll matter," John tried to tell him gently. "I had been on the road for three straight days the first time we met and he was still excited to see me."

"Yeah, well, don't blame him there," Dean replied hurriedly as he dug through his duffel. "But I'm not his father. Hell, Sammy's known me his whole life and doesn't bother to freaking call." He held up a solid black t-shirt and a blue-checked button-down. "Think this'll work?"

"It's perfect," John replied woodenly, Dean's statement striking him cold.

Dean made a face at him. "What's wrong with you?" he snapped. "I thought you wanted this?"

John shook his head, trying to bury his emotions where Dean wouldn't notice. Actually, Dean being an empath explained many things, specifically all of his son's reactions to him and their life over the past twenty years. In private conference, Xavier had commented on the fact he was already in the habit of masking his emotions, so on some deep level he must have noticed Dean's empathic abilities years ago.

"Go on and change. They're expecting us for dinner."

Dean gave him a funny look before disappearing into the bathroom. Holy crap. Was Xavier right? Was Dean's sense of self-worth really so low? John required a deep steadying breath. Sammy doesn't bother to freaking call. Jesus. Obviously that was his fault, not Dean's, but his oldest son had a point. It was his fault and not Dean's, so why hadn't Sam bothered to call his brother and let him know how his life at school was? Had he raised such a selfish child, to only think of himself? Well, it would fit with John's example for the past nineteen years, always leaving his kids behind so he could hunt, ignoring them in favor of his research, moving them around constantly to be near him regardless of how it affected them. And then there had been the shtriga.

Oh, God, that damn witch. He had bawled Dean out for not making the kill when the poor kid had never shot at anything that wasn't a practice target before. Afterwards Dean wouldn't look him in the eye for months. That had been entirely his fault and he had had no idea how to fix it. He had tried everything he could think of at the time. He had taken Dean out for extra target practice, praising his excellent marksmanship. He had continued to leave Sammy in Dean's care, not inventing additional safety measures. Any time he had given Dean an order after that point the kid had snapped to. When that had become the norm, John had stopped worrying about it believing the situation had been fixed. Clearly that had been yet another mistake.

If Adam didn't like Dean, well, John might not be back this way again. Or he would be back to sneaking around behind Dean's back. Good grief, when had his life become so freaking difficult? And yes, he knew the answer to that question, the night Sam had turned six months old.

Today had better go well.

John scrubbed both hands down his face, noticing that he smelled a little gamy. Clearly Dean had the right idea. "Hurry up," he called out, pounding on the bathroom door. "I'm next!"

When Dean stepped out, freshly showered, he gave John a strong look. "I was going to suggest a shower."

"Yeah, well, point taken." John jabbed a thumb towards the interior of the room. "Move it."

His son paused to block his path for a moment. Then he shrugged and followed John's order. John was under the spray of the shower before he realized he had violated their agreement, that he would be nicer from now on. Well, he would have to make it up to Dean. How? Now that was a good question.

He stepped back out buttoning his clean shirt. "Am I presentable now?" John asked.

"You could use a haircut," Dean replied evenly. John's head snapped up to see if his son was serious. He certainly looked serious. Dean shrugged. "But it's not like we have time."

John followed Dean out of the motel room. "Do you really think I need a haircut?" he asked as he pulled the door closed behind them.

"You are looking like of scraggly, Dad," Dean said.

Well, coming from someone with a short, military style haircut, almost anything longer than an inch could be considered scraggly. John checked his hair in the sideview mirror of the car. "It's not that bad," he protested.

"Depends on what you're going for," Dean told him, turning the engine over.

John glanced over, suspicious. "You're messing with me?"

Dean flashed him a smile as he threw the Impala into reverse, the smart-ass. John reached over to rub his hand up the back of Dean's head, really appreciating the fact they were both here, in the car together.

"Knock it off, Dad," Dean groused. "You're getting all gooey on me again."

John grinned at him. "That's because you make me gooey, son." He allowed his affection for his oldest son to flow to the top of his emotional pile.

Dean growled low under his breath. "It's getting worse," he muttered.

"Oh, this is nothing," John threatened. "Let me think of you at two, toddling around the house with your little firetruck."

"Dad!" Dean snapped.

"You were the cutest little guy," he continued with a broad smile. "And you had the chubbiest legs."

They stopped at a light. Dean pressed his forehead against the steering wheel. "Da-a-a-ad."

"All right," John relented. "But I wanted to be sure you knew how special the first kid is. That's something you never forget."

Dean turned his head to the side, forehead still resting against the wheel. "Yeah?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yeah," John insisted. A horn honked from behind them. "I think the light's green."

Dean made a groan-growl as he pushed back to drive. They pulled smoothly through the intersection, his son's driving impeccable as usual. John directed Dean to the Milligan residence. They parked on the street. Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he stared at the suburban house.

The front door banged open and Adam raced outdoors, his hair bright blond in the waning sunlight. "Dad!" he screamed.

John glanced over to see how Dean was taking this. His son's face was tight and he looked like he might be sick. Damn it. Clearly talking about there being another son was not the same as seeing it. Adam ran right up to the passenger window, face flushed with excitement.

"Dad! Is this him? Is it? Is he really my brother? Wow, he's a lot bigger than I thought. Are you Dean?" Adam babbled through the window.

John chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm.

"Uh yeah," Dean said with a small smile. "I'm Dean."

"Cool!" Adam bounced up and down a couple of times. "You are coming in, right? Mom said you'd stay for dinner."

"Of course," John replied as he pushed open his car door slowly. "Dean's always hungry."

Adam raced to the front of the car, his eyes pinned to the image of Dean opening his door and standing up. The boy's eyes bugged out. "Whoa," he breathed. Adam glanced over at John. "He's a lot bigger than I thought, Dad!"

John met Dean's gaze, hoping for some sign of approval. He waited in the yard for Dean to join him before they followed the very excited and energetic Adam inside.

"Do you play any sports?" Adam asked, walking backwards in front of them. "I have a football. I'm not really good, but I like to play. I also have a baseball but only one glove. Oh, I have some cool video games. Do you like video games?" He bounced from side to side in front of them, always angling for a better view of Dean.

"Adam!" Kate called from the doorway. "Honey, don't pester. At least let them come inside."

John decided to forgo the usual kiss on the cheek he liked to give her, too uncomfortable with Dean watching his every move. He stood aside to wait for Dean to walk in too.

"Kate, this is my son, Dean. Dean, this is Adam's mother, Kate Milligan," John said by way of introductions.

She smiled broadly at Dean, holding out her hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Dean. I'm so glad you were able to make it, Adam has been talking nonstop about your visit since his, uh, your father called."

Dean shook her hand politely. "Nice to meet you."

John noticed his son twitching his shoulders, the prelude to a full roll. He stepped quickly behind his son to hold those shoulders down. "When's dinner, Kate?" he asked. "We've been on the road all day."

"Oh, it's nearly ready. Let me go check on it." She beamed at them before heading back to the kitchen.

"You don't need it," John whispered in Dean's ear. "Give them a chance. And I don't want you passing out here."

"My back is killing me," Dean whispered back.

John pressed his palm directly between Dean's shoulderblades, shocked it felt hot to the touch. He rubbed at the hot spot, hoping it would help ease the pain.

"Are you all right?" Adam asked in concern. "Does this mean we can't play outside?"

"He's just a little sore from driving all day," John said. "Give him a few minutes, all right, buddy?"

"Oh, sure, Dad. Hey! Want to see my room?" Adam asked Dean.

The green around the gills look was back, but Dean forced a smile. "Sure, kid. Why not?"

John held on to those shoulders for another moment. "You're sure?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Dean breathed out. "Now or never."

John released him, feeling an awful lot like he was sending an unsuspecting victim into the lion's den. He hoped Dean would come out all right, he still had to drive back with his oldest son. John decided to visit with Kate for a few minutes in the kitchen while the boys got, uh, acquainted.

"Need any help?" John asked conversationally as he walked in.

Kate spun around with a smile. "Sure, you can help set the dishes on the table. Everything is ready." She frowned. "It's too quiet. Where's Adam?"

"Showing Dean his room," John informed her as he grabbed some pot-holders.

"Oh, dear." She rolled her eyes. "It could be hours. I can not tell you how excited Adam has been."

"I can tell," John replied. "After the table is ready, I'll rescue Dean. It's been a while since he had to deal with... No, that's not true. He deals with kids all the time at his new job. And he's good at it."

"Really? What does he do?" Kate asked. "I thought you were both in the same, uh, business."

"We are," John confirmed, "but Dean has a part-time job teaching at the Xavier Institute." Wow, that sounded really good out loud.

"Oh! Impressive," Kate replied. "What does he teach?"

Oh, yeah. Good question. "Uh, self-defense," John improvised.

"He certainly does look fit," Kate said, carrying out a steaming plate of vegetables. "I had no idea what he'd like, so I made meatloaf. I hope it's all right."

"Dean eats anything that hasn't bitten him first," John told her. "Don't worry about it."

She glanced warily in the direction of Adam's room. "I really hope he likes Adam."

"Me, too," John admitted. "You have no idea how much trouble I was in when I finally told him."

"Really?" Kate asked. "Why? I thought your wife died a long time ago?"

"Dean was four," John told her. He sighed loudly. "He kind of placed her memory on a pedestal. I was always afraid of tarnishing it."

Kate shook her head at him. "Parents are human, John. Surely he's old enough to understand that by now."

"Probably too well." John set the last dish of food on the table. "Are we ready?"

"Ready." Kate smiled with her hands on her hips. "Now this should be really interesting."

"Boys!" John bellowed, knowing his voice could not be ignored.

Adam, talking a mile a minute, led Dean into the dining room walking backwards again so he wouldn't have to take his eyes off his older brother. "...and that's when he said that he didn't believe I really had a big brother. So? Can we? Do you mind?"

"We should probably eat first," Dean said in an odd voice, one John couldn't place.

Kate insisted on saying grace before eating, and then Adam insisted on adding the exact same food to his plate Dean selected. Unfortunately for Adam, Dean helped himself to large portions of everything. Kate shot John a questioning look. He shrugged back helplessly. "I did warn you about his appetite."

"Huh?" Dean asked with his mouth full, pulling his gaze from his plate with effort.

John chuckled at the sight as he dug into Kate's meatloaf. "Just eat," John directed. Dean nodded as his attention dove back down to his food.

When Dean was on his second plateful, and John was highly suspicious there would not be any leftovers, he slowed down enough to hold some dinner conversation.

"So do you live with Dad in Kansas?" Adam asked before Dean could answer if he liked Kate's meatloaf.

"If this is meatloaf," Dean declared pointing with his fork, "then that last diner we ate in had it all wrong. This is great." His gaze shifted to Adam. "Upstate New York. I just started a new job."

"Teaching self-defense," John added quickly.

Dean appeared to mull that one over for a moment before nodding in agreement.

"Really?" Adam's eyes lit up, and John hadn't thought he could look any more excited. "Wow! Can you show me some moves before you leave?"

Dean chuckled around a mouthful of food. He swallowed to clear his mouth before speaking. "Dude, take a breath. Tell you what, after I'm done eating, we'll go throw that football around a little."

"Yes!" Adam punched a fist in the air before settling down to the serious task of clearing his plate in order to play outdoors.

Dean took a little more time, exchanging some niceties with Kate.

"No, ma'am. I haven't been there very long. Just started about a month ago. … Yes, I do like it there. It's kind of – unique. … The kids there are great. Very creative."

Kate frowned for a moment. "Creative? In self-defense?"

Dean flashed a broad smile as John's hopes for this to be smooth and easy were dashed. What the hell could he say to that?

"It's more of an overall approach to self-defense, not just physical. For example, to always be aware of your surroundings." A slight shoulder roll, too quick for John to spot in time, accompanied the statement. Well, at least it wasn't like the big snap which had knocked him out for a day last time. "If you're aware of your surroundings you can tell if someone is following you and instead of going to your car, or to the apartment where you live by yourself, you go someplace crowded. You'd be shocked at the creative things they can come up with for different situations."

Damn, Dean was good. That was an excellent explanation, he didn't need the shoulder-roll.

Kate smiled brightly. "Well, I never thought of it like that. What an excellent way of viewing things. I don't suppose you do seminars? I know a lot of the nurses up at the hospital could use a course in common sense self-defense."

Dean laughed at her. "I like that. Common sense self-defense. Can I steal that?"

"It's yours." Kate winked at him. "Especially if you play some football. Now, does this institute you work for loan you out for seminars? I was serious about that."

"Not that I know of," Dean replied. "But I'm still new. I can ask, if you like."

"I'll be sure to give you one of my cards before you leave," Kate said with a nod. "I see my potatoes were a hit."

"Fantastic," Dean assured her, scraping the last off his plate with his fork. "You should give my dad the recipe, he's started cooking."

John opened his mouth to protest, but it was kind of true. Since making breakfast for Dean the morning after revealing Adam's existence, he had at least made a sandwich for his son every day. Now he knew his efforts had not gone unappreciated.

"I'd like that," John told Kate. "If you don't mind."

"No, I'd be happy to," she assured him.

Dean used a piece of bread to wipe down his plate, sopping up every last morsel, before shoving the bread in his mouth.

"'et's go," he mumbled around it to the boy seated across from him.

Adam shot out of his chair like he had a rocket attached. Dean met John's gaze and jerked his head at the door, informing them the boys were going outside to play.

"Have fun," John suggested.

Dean rolled his eyes, but a smile appeared over his bulging cheek. John wondered if he was still in trouble with Dean, or if he was in a whole different kind of trouble with Dean and Adam getting along. There was no telling what kind of trouble those two could cook up together.


	23. Chapter 23: It Gets Harder

There have been a lot of questions about Sam and if he will be making any kind of appearance in this story. The answer is yes. Sam will begin appearing in a series of cameos starting in the next chapter. He will continue to make appearances in this story and there is a reunion between the two planned.

Chapter 23: **It Gets Harder**

Excited, excited, excited and oh so proud! These were the emotions exuded by Adam as he raced around the yard attempting to catch Dean's throws. It was unbelievable, especially since it was all Adam; Dean hadn't tried to influence him one way or the other. To be honest, if he had, Dean wasn't sure he would have wanted Adam to like him so much. On arrival Dean had been fully prepared for the kid to hate him on sight, to see him as competition for Dad's affection. Instead Adam had sought out Dean's attention, of all frigging things. He wasn't sure how to take it.

Dean stood Adam about eight feet away to simply throw the ball back and forth until he got the hang of it. Adam was eager to please and watched him with shining eyes. He remembered Sammy at about six with the same look, but never as a teen. By the time Sam had reached Adam's age he had turned moody and sullen about damn near everything. Adam was like that breath of fresh air Dean had been craving. How weird was that?

Adam made a bad throw Dean barely managed to catch, nearly dropping the ball entirely. When he looked back at the kid, Adam wore a crestfallen look on his face and fear and horror spread slowly from him.

"Dude," Dean said with a grin, "didya see me play hackey sack with a freaking football?" Some puzzlement crept in past the fear and horror. "Watch," Dean continued, tossing the ball straight up in the air. This time he intentionally fumbled with it, bouncing it off his elbows and forearms until he lost control completely and it fell to the ground. Dean stared at it a moment scratching his head like he couldn't figure out what went wrong there. Puzzlement and curiosity won out over Adam's embarrassment.

Dean glanced up, knowing this could push the puzzlement into relief and laughter. "Maybe I shouldn't plan on going pro, huh?"

Sweet relief cascaded out, growing with Adam's laughter.

"Oh, think that's funny, huh?" Dean teased with a grin. "How about if I show you a real tackle?"

"Oh, no!" Adam screamed as he took off running. Not even a wiry thirteen year old had a prayer of outdistancing Dean, especially since Logan became his personal-freaking-trainer. Even after a mere couple of weeks of Logan's grueling work-outs, Dean felt more fit than he had in his life. He easily outran Adam, slowing to run right beside him.

"Uh, what're we doing?" Dean asked, not even close to being out of breath as Adam panted. "You weren't trying to, you know, get away? Were you?"

Adam's eyes widened as Dean grinned broader. "Tackle!" he shouted as he lunged at the scrawny kid, taking him to the ground with a roll. They both came up spitting out loose blades of grass.

"Whoa," Adam panted. "You're...fast."

Dean ran a hand over his head to dislodge any grass sticking there. "Dude, the word is awesome," he kidded. At this point, Sam would roll his eyes and snark "yeah, right" or "jerk."

"Totally awesome!" Adam agreed instead.

Even though he had done nothing to deserve it, the clear hero-worship was kind of cool. Unsettling, but cool.

"Eh, you're not so bad yourself," Dean replied, cuffing him lightly to the side of the head. "So where does this bratty kid who thinks you're a liar live?"

"Yes!" Adam shouted, throwing both arms around his chest. "Oh, Dean, I knew you were gonna be the best brother ever!"

Dean peeled the kid off before standing and shaking his head at him. "Look kid, just because I'm going to set this punk straight does not mean I'm the best brother ever. It would take a whole lot more than that."

"But..." The crestfallen look returned and he appeared close to tears. Felt it, too. "I never had a brother before. I don't know what it's supposed to be like."

Tears stung his eyes, frigging empathy!

"It's supposed to be like this. Today," Dean explained. "But not all the time. Brothers look out for each other, watch each other's backs, but they fight too." He shrugged at Adam's confused expression, which matched the kid's emotions. "Not fist fighting, more like teasing each other."

"Oh." Adam gave him a pleading look. "Can we do that?"

God, this kid really wanted an older brother bad. How could he say no to this? If he did, he would break Adam's heart. Since when had he been important enough to be able to break anyone's heart? However, if there was one thing in the world he knew he could do well, it was be an older brother.

"Tell you what," Dean told him. "Before we leave tomorrow, I'll make sure you have my cell number and you can call me whenever you want. We'll have to find out what kind of brothers we are."

Pure joy surged up and Dean knew what would happen next before Adam moved. The kid slammed into his chest and held on tight. Apparently this was pretty much what Adam had been desperately hoping for, if the relief flooding them was anything to go by.

"Dude, enough chick-flick," Dean protested as he attempted to peel the young teen off. Logan would feast off of this for months if he found out. "Let's go set that punk straight, huh?"

Adam's head twisted against him, rumpling his shirt. "I'd rather hang out with you."

Dean chuckled as an idea came to him. "I don't suppose this punk is someone you hang out with? Who comes over to the house?"

Adam's head lifted up to look at him. "Well, he used to. But that was before he made the football team."

Dean rolled his eyes. A frigging punk jock. Yeah, it all made sense now. He grinned down at his new kid brother. "In that case, why don't you invite some guys over tomorrow to play football? Be sure to include the punk, we'll make sure he's on the other team."

Adam beamed up at him. "So you're going to play with me when you back over tomorrow?"

"Hell yes," Dean replied brusquely. "Your mom is cooking tomorrow too, right?"

Adam laughed at him. "You bet! Even if I have to pester her all night."

"Now that's more like it," Dean said as he forced Adam to release him. "Don't you have some phone calls to make?"

Adam shook his head. "It'll wait until after you leave. What do you want to do now? Hey, can you show me some cool self-defense moves?"

The kid placed showing off to his friends after hanging out with Dean. Damn. This kid was doing wonders for his ego. Of course, Adam didn't really know him yet and the whole 'brother' thing was still new, so Dean wasn't planning on getting too comfortable with him. After a few months Dean would bet the kid wouldn't even take his calls, much less call him, but he was willing to wait and see. Regardless, today had been pretty sweet.

* * *

Dean and Adam tromped up to the door full of noise and loud voices. The sound was so unexpected, John stared for a moment at the pair not quite believing it. Both boys were covered in bits of freshly mowed grass clippings, which Dean was doing his best to brush off on the porch.

"Yeah, well, if you knew how to run I wouldn't have been able to catch you," Dean teased Adam with a slight grin.

"Hey, I never asked you to tackle me," Adam replied with a smile which stretched so wide his face would have to hurt later.

"Are you gonna help me with this or what?" Dean demanded, sounding normal for the first time since they arrived. "Your mom will kill me for tracking this in the house."

"Oh, it's all right," Kate insisted, appearing from just behind the wall. Knowing her, she had been listening in. "I have boys coming and going all the time, a little grass isn't going to make much of a difference."

One of Dean's blinding smiles, the kind which meant he genuinely liked you, flashed. He swept a hand across his shoulders again before stepping inside. John walked behind his oldest to help brush bits of grass and leaves from the back of his clothes before he sat on the furniture.

"Am I good?" Dean asked, looking over one shoulder at his back.

"Yeah, think so," John replied gruffly, trying not to show how much it meant to him for Dean and Adam to be getting along.

"Gooey," Dean growled under his breath.

"Sorry," John whispered.

"Mom? We want dessert," Adam announced. "What do we have?"

"Oh, well, I think there's some ice cream in the freezer. Will that work?" Kate asked. Adam turned a hopeful expression to Dean. A quick nod and thumbs up assured Adam ice cream would be acceptable. He raced after his mother into the kitchen.

"Well?" John asked anxiously as he sat next to Dean on the couch.

"He's a good kid," Dean said with a shrug. "We'll see."

Dean stared pointedly at where John was sitting on the couch and lifted his eyebrows.

"What?" John demanded. "I'm not allowed to sit here?"

A smile, one of the real ones, flashed across Dean's face again. "Just wait. You'll see."

Adam walked quickly out of the kitchen carefully balancing two bowls of ice cream. He frowned when he saw them sitting together. Then Adam shrugged as he handed one of the bowls over to Dean. He crouched down and sat on the floor next to Dean's feet, leaning against the arm of the couch.

"Uh, what about mine?" John asked. And why was Adam sitting on the floor when there were several perfectly good chairs in here?

Adam pointed toward the kitchen with his spoon. "There's plenty. Help yourself."

A strangled noise from his side revealed Dean with a red face and the appearance of choking. John slapped his son twice on the back. Hard.

"Dean!" he snapped, the image of his son lying dead outside a bar still too fresh to ignore.

Dean's head shook as he swallowed hard. Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. He tried to talk, but without air moving he could make no sound. His son's head dipped down and his shoulders shook...with laughter?

"Dean?" John tried more gently this time. "Son, are you all right?"

His head bobbed up and down like some dashboard hula girl. With a loud gasp, Dean's head lifted to reveal eyes shimmering with mischief and a huge grin. "Dad," he said breathlessly, "he totally dissed you."

"Dissed?" John repeated. "What's a diss?"

"As in disrespect?" Kate asked sternly from a few feet away. She glowered at her son. "Adam, did you diss your father?"

"No, Mom. Honest. All I said was if he wanted some ice cream he could help himself," Adam stated.

"Oh." Indecision flashed across Kate's face. "I thought it was something bad."

The sofa shook with a fresh burst of Dean's silent laughter. Well, actually, it was kind of funny, if you looked at it the right way. John smiled at his oldest, wracked with hilarity, until he could feel how humorous the whole situation was. After all, Dean had arrived expecting this kid to hate him, and instead he was receiving preferential treatment even over their father. This was undoubtedly a first for Dean. And was it pretty funny at that.

John glanced down to see Adam laughing loudly, hanging on to one of Dean's knees. Kate was smiling and laughing lightly at the sight of the two boys acting like brothers. Soon they all joined in the group laughter, unable to stop until Dean set down his bowl and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Do...do you have any idea?" He was still trying to catch his breath. "If I had said that to Dad when I was your age?" Dean let loose a short bark of laughter and ran a hand down his face. "Oh, dude. That was freaking classic. Awesome." He picked his bowl back up and stabbed a spoon into the brown and white creamy mound. "I will never forget this."

Kate appeared nonplussed for a moment, then her smile reappeared. "Neither will we, Dean. So Adam tells me I'm cooking again tomorrow? Do you have any preferences?"

"Oh, Dean will eat almost-" John started to say.

"Pie," Dean cut in. "As long as you have pie, I'm good."

The slight shrug of his shoulders impressed upon John just how big Dean was now. He was no longer a kid, he was a grown man. His son might not be quite as tall, but he was every bit as broad as John. And pound for pound? Dean could kick his ass, no doubt. Especially since John had already taught Dean all of his dirty tricks, so odds were none of them would work.

After the ice cream was gone and it was dark out, Dean suggested they head back to the motel. He promised Adam they would return in the morning. Back at the motel Dean dropped heavily into the bed opposite the door with a grunt.

"We're going back to the Milligans' tomorrow?" John asked in what he hoped was a casual voice.

"Yeah," Dean sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "He seems like a good kid."

His son's eyes closed and his body stilled. Frighteningly still.

"Dean?" John walked across the room. "Dean!"

Dean's body jerked and his eyes flew open. "What? What happened?"

"Were you sleeping?" John asked in amazement. "Son, is anything wrong? Do you feel all right? Maybe I need to call your doctor."

"That." One of Dean's hands lifted to flap slowly in the air in John's general direction. "Totally wears me out."

"What?" John demanded, wanting to move closer but if he was the problem then the best place for him might be staying away from his son. What would he do if he had to stay away from his son? "What wears you out?"

"The freaking roller coaster," Dean muttered, eyes closing again and the hand dropping with a thump to the bed. "Dude, pick one emotion and stick with it, would ya? I'm wiped."

Emotions. Roller coaster. Pick one. Wiped. Translation: too many emotions wore Dean out. Most likely conflicting emotions made it worse. Between John being so anxious over his oldest and youngest sons meeting and Adam's teen hormones and expectations running rampant, it was no wonder Dean was worn out.

One emotion. He could do that. Well, maybe with practice. For now, John fixed an image in his mind of Dean as a toddler, darting all over the house in nothing but a diaper. He was aware of the smile on his face as he prepared for bed and kept an ear tuned for any change in his son's soft snores. John was also planning on staying one more night so Dean could rest up and hit the road fresh.

* * *

Early the next morning John leaned against the Impala sipping fresh coffee and waiting on his son to finish up in the local copy shop. Dean appeared sporting a mischievous grin and holding a stack of business cards.

"What do you have this time?" John asked holding out an open hand.

"This is for local yokels," Dean replied, slapping freshly printed Federal Agent contact cards with a number John didn't recognize in his hand. "Bobby put in another line."

"Of course," John replied with a nod. "Are you still calling Bobby every day?"

"Pretty much," Dean said with a shrug. "This is for Adam and Kate." He handed over a smaller stack of cards.

This card had the Xavier Institute logo on it, God only knew how long Dean had been planning on doing this, with Dean's real name and the title of Instructor underneath 'Common Sense Self-Defense.' John had to smile as he passed the cards back.

"She'll love it, but why print so many?" John asked.

"It sounded cool," Dean told him. "Besides, it'd be a good cover for traveling around and investigating potential mutants as well as supernatural things."

"Good idea," John replied slowly. "Have you been working on this for a while?"

"Not really." Dean ran a hand over his head, pausing to scratch at the back of his neck. "It's just an idea. Don't know what Professor X will have to say about it."

"Considering what a good instructor you are, I'm sure he'll love it," John assured his son.

Dean gave him a funny look. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm being nice!" John snapped defensively.

Dean's grin returned. "That's better." He opened the driver's side door and slid effortlessly behind the wheel.

John scrubbed a hand over his face. "This is going to be harder than I thought," he muttered to himself.

The honk of the Impala's horn made him jump. "Dad, are we going or what?" Dean shouted out the open passenger window.

"A lot harder." John pulled open the passenger door so he could join his son in the car. "You can be a real pain in the ass."

The twinkle in Dean's eye, the one John had rarely seen before this whole mutant business, appeared. "You know what Hank says, it takes one to know one."

"Drive," John ordered with a wave at the steering wheel.

"Yes, sir!" But it was said in a light mocking tone, not at all serious.

A whole lot harder.


	24. Chapter 24: First Downs

**Chapter 24: First Downs**

After a hearty breakfast and the making of his new business cards, Dean drove Dad over to the Milligans'. God, people didn't come much more normal.

With Adam's excitement from last night, Dean had assumed the yard would be crammed with young teen boys. Instead the yard was empty and quiet. Yeah, he had figured yesterday had been too good to be true. After turning the engine off, Dean pulled the key out with a sigh.

"He's probably not up yet," Dad said. Sometimes it was like the man could read his mind. Now that was a creepy thought.

Dean shrugged like it wouldn't matter either way as he opened his door to step out of the car. He stretched a little before following Dad up the walk. The front door flew open when they were still a few feet away and Adam barreled out.

"I thought I heard Dean's car!" he yelled. "What took you so long?"

Dad jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Dean. "I had to feed the bottomless pit here."

Dean rolled his eyes as Kate appeared in the doorway. "He's been up since five," she said heavily.

"I told my friends not to come until after lunch," Adam said with a grin. "I wanted to be sure I got to spend time with just you." His eyes were pinned to Dean. "Can you take me for a ride in your car?"

Dean looked over the kid's head at his mother. He wasn't about to do anything to alienate her.

"Well," Kate said slowly, "I suppose it's all right, if it's okay with you, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "No sweat."

"Dean," Dad said in a strong tone. "Don't forget the card."

Dean pulled two of his new business cards out to hand one to Kate and the other to Adam. "That's my cell number."

"Oh, great, I'll be sure to..." A burst of laughter broke out of her. "You just had these made, didn't you?" she demanded with a grin.

Dean winked at her. "Just for you."

Kate gave Dad a gentle slap to the shoulder. "He's a charmer. Just like his father."

"Do I get to come along on this ride?" Dad asked. "Or it is boys only?"

A sour expression appeared on Adam's face. "Dean isn't a boy, Dad. He's grown up."

Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at how much that irritated Dad.

"It doesn't matter how grown he is," Dad replied in a strong tone, "he'll always be my child."

"Relax, Dad," Dean chided. "You can come. I have a feeling Adam just wants to cruise around town a little before lunch?"

Adam nodded happily.

* * *

Sam pulled the document out of his pocket to read over again. A scholarship from the Xavier Institute granted him seventy thousand dollars for the year, the only restriction being he had to have a full physical from an appointed clinic. Weird, but seventy grand was impossible to pass up. Unfortunately, the closest clinic on the list which was a general practitioner was over two hours away, so he was stuck here.

"Winchester?" the nurse, a stocky woman in scrubs covered with Disney cartoon characters, called.

Sam stood with his letter to follow her into one of the exam rooms. She kept giving him funny looks.

"What?" he asked, unnerved by her attitude.

"Well, this is a pediatrician's office," the nurse explained. "Why are you having a physical done here?"

Sam showed her the letter which accompanied the award with the list of approved clinics. She scanned it quickly.

"Uh, this looks like..." She broke off, her gaze snapping to his. "I don't suppose you know anyone at the Xavier Institute? A relative?"

Sam shook his head. "No, but they awarded me a scholarship. Does that count?"

"Really?" She made a notation in his file. "Now that is interesting. Let me take your vitals and a blood sample. The doctor will be in to perform the exam in a few minutes."

After the nurse had taken his blood Sam waited on the doctor for quite a while, it wasn't anywhere close to a 'few' minutes. The man finally came into the room nodding his head as he read Sam's file.

"Good morning, Sam. I'm doctor..." He stopped short when he looked up from the file. The doctor looked around the room, even going so far as to turn completely around. "Is there a child hiding in here?"

"No." As if being forced to visit a pediatrician wasn't bad enough, the nurse could have at least made a note in his file. Sam held out the requirements for granting his scholarship. "I have to have a physical from one of these clinics. Yours was the closest."

"Oh, I see," the doctor murmured as he read over the requirements. "Well, that would explain it." He stuck out a hand. "I'm Doctor Whithers. Your blood-work was perfect. Now I just have a few tests before I can send in my report to the Institute."

The tests were odd. Granted, Sam had not had many regular physicals, they had moved around far too much and Dean had learned at an early age how to fake their shot records. It helped to have a brother who didn't care for needles in charge. Some of these tests actually reminded Sam more of the tricks he used to use to see if a psychic was real. Then his vision and hearing were checked, and the doctor seemed disappointed both were in the normal range. They had a machine to test his strength, again a disappointing normal, though Sam happened to agree this time. He might be a little out of shape. Another test pricked the skin of both arms with different small needles. No reaction, which was normal but oddly disappointing. Sam suspected this guy was tired of dealing with kids all the time and wanted a nice juicy adult patient with lots of allergies. Before he left, Sam had been poked and prodded within an inch of his life.

"Not that interesting," Doctor Whithers said with a sigh. "Too bad. Well, I'll pass this on to the Institute. No promises on your scholarship being renewed for next year with results like these." He shook his head sadly. "And the blood work had been so promising."

Okay, that was freaking beyond weird. Sam rushed out of there with his clean bill of health. Was this scholarship really worth putting up with this level of weirdness? He went over the award in his hand again. Seventy grand? Hell, yeah. But he would look into this Xavier Institute. Just as soon as he had some spare time.

* * *

It was difficult to breathe with a half dozen thirteen year old boys piled on his chest. When the top layer moved, Dean was able to roll the others off of him. He pulled in a deep breath before standing and holding the football still in his grasp up in the air.

"First down!" Adam shouted triumphantly, both fists shaking in the air.

Dean tossed the kid, his kid brother, the ball. Their team, consisting of three thirteen year old boys and him, lined up against the opposing team, composed of a mixture of six thirteen and fourteen year old boys. He had figured out it was the six boys on the other team Adam wanted to impress. The other two boys on their team were pretty solidly on Adam's side already. Dean might need to have a few words with the kid about this before he left.

They managed to score again. The ball was snapped by the other team. Dean made a diving lunge to take down three of the boys at once. He struggled to pin them down and turn his head to see the action. The other boys raced around the yard shouting instructions at each other. When he was fairly confident these three wouldn't pose a problem for his side, Dean let them up. The other team scored anyway.

"Hey, man," one of the opposing kids said. "You're not bad for an old guy."

"Gee thanks, punk," Dean replied with a shake of his head and giving the kid a shove in shoulder. He ran a hand over his head to dislodge any leaves sticking to his hair.

"Dean!" Adam raced up beaming. "Oh, man! I don't think we've ever tied them before. This is great!"

"Hey, Adam!" One of the bigger boys yelled. "My mom is calling, I have to go!"

"Yeah, right," Adam snorted, waving back. "He's just mad we weren't losing."

"So did we impress the jerks enough?" Dean asked as the kids on the other team filtered away.

"Yeah." Adam chuckled as he turned around to face Dean. "It was great!"

"And your real friends?" Dean asked motioning to the two kids remaining in the yard.

"Ah, I guess he's all right," the taller of the two boys said. There was some resistance from this one. "So why haven't we met you before?"

Now how could he answer that without making Dad look bad?

"Dad just told me about Dean last week," Adam answered for him. "And when I asked if I could meet him, Dad said that was why he was calling, because Dean wanted to meet me!" The kid leaned against his side and Dean automatically threw a protective arm around him.

Oh, so that was how it went down, huh? Well, no wonder the kid had been so excited. No reason to burst his bubble.

"Todd, right?" Dean asked the tall kid. He nodded. "So that would make you," he pointed at the other friend, "Barry?"

Barry, a chubby boy with dark curly hair, grinned and nodded. "Adam's been talking about you coming for a week. Real glad you didn't disappoint. Even I was starting to believe he made you up."

"Nice," Todd snapped. "I still don't buy the fighter pilot story."

Dean looked down at the boy leaning against his side. "Dude. Fighter pilot? Do I really look like that kind of a wuss?"

Adam laughed and shook his head. "No way, Dean. You're much cooler than that."

"What's the word?" Dean prompted.

"Awesome," Adam laughed.

"That's better." He spun on Adam, trapping the kid's head between his arm and side. "You guys want a snack? I'm starved."

"You're always hungry," Adam protested into his side.

"What? Hey, did you hear something?" Dean asked pulling the kid, his kid brother, along towards the house.

"Are you really leaving tomorrow?" Adam asked, his voice muffled by Dean's shirt.

"Yeah. I have to work," Dean replied.

Adam wriggled away to look up at him. "Will you ever come back?"

Dean shrugged. "Depends."

"On what?" Todd demanded from behind them. The look on Adam's face matched the question and he waited impatiently and anxiously for Dean's answer.

"On if you invite me back," Dean informed him honestly.

Again there was relief from Adam. "Are you kidding?" he laughed. "You can come back any time!"

The front door opened. "Snack-" Dad bellowed, his voice dropping when he saw them on the front step. "-Time," he finished lamely.

"Awesome. What are we having?" Dean asked as he pressed by, Dad's broad frame moving easily out of the way.

"Does it matter?" Dad asked sarcastically.

"Nice, Dad," Dean admonished. "Real nice." The stab of guilt from Dad wasn't exactly unexpected, but it was stronger than he would have believed.

Bowls filled with fruit, chips and dips filled the dining table. "Yahtzee!" Dean barked happily, making a bee-line for the food.

"He's a bottomless pit," Adam explained to his friends, parroting what Dad had said this morning. Dean didn't care.

* * *

Logan paused outside of Dean's room. He could still smell the kid's scent even though Dean had been gone for a few days. It was really strange. He had been perfectly fine before meeting the stupid kid, and now he was wondering when the kid was planning on coming back. Or if he was coming back.

With a growl, Logan realized the kid's father could talk him out of returning to the Institute. With Dean's hero-worship of his father, it might not take much talking either.

"Logan!" Summers' voice echoed in the otherwise empty hall. "I've been looking all over for you. Do you know when Hunter will be back?"

Funny he should ask. "Not really," Logan admitted. "Why?"

"Professor X has an assignment for us and he wants Hunter to go," Summers explained.

Logan studied his reflection in those amber colored sunglasses, unable to search the eyes beyond for the truth. "What for?"

His team leader shrugged. "All he said was it's recon and he wants the three of us, if Hunter is willing. I figured if you were going it wouldn't be difficult to convince him to go."

"Yeah? Why's that?" Logan demanded, his shoulders stiffening.

Summers gave him a strong look. "Well it's pretty obvious you two are good friends. And after seeing one of your sparring sessions, it's clear Hunter hasn't exactly lived a sheltered life."

"I c'n call him," Logan said reluctantly. He had been trying to avoid using Dean's cell number and intruding on 'family' time. Besides, he didn't want Dean to assume Logan 'missed' him or anything weak like that. "When do ya want to do this?"

Summers pondered the question. "Well, since he's obviously feeling better, we can go when he returns."

"What about his class?" Logan asked. "He prob'ly needs ta work on lessons or something."

Summers made a sour face. "I don't think the kids will be missing much. Let me know after you talk to him." He left Logan alone in the hall.

"Yeah?" Logan growled at the retreating back. "We'll see about that."

He sniffed the air again, there was a familiar scent which hadn't been here a few minutes ago. "Kitty?"

Her head appeared through the wall. "Mister Summers really doesn't think Professor Hunter's class is a good one? But Professor Xavier thinks..."

"It don't matter what Summers thinks," Logan interrupted her. "What do you think?"

She stepped fully through the wall, her thick nightgown waving gently around her legs. "I like his class and I think he really wants to help us."

"There," Logan stated with authority and a wave of his hand. "That's what matters."

Kitty peered through dark strands of hair covering her face. "Since Professor Hunter went out of town for the weekend, does that mean he's well enough for our field trip?"

Logan gave her a curt nod. "Ya know what? I think if he's well enough to go on a mission, he's definitely well enough for a trip to the mall. I'll talk ta the Professor and set it up."

She beamed at him. "Thanks, Logan."

He paused before heading for a phone. "What are you doin' up anyway?"

Kitty sighed and shrugged. "Can't sleep." She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. "Creepy dreams."

"What kind o' dreams?" Logan asked in a gentler voice.

She glanced up and down the hall like somebody might be listening. "It's stupid," Kitty whispered. "I don't want to talk about it."

With a frown, Logan strode to the wall beside her and slid down to sit on the floor. He patted the empty space next to him. Kitty sat.

"Talk," he insisted.

She fiddled with the hem of her nightgown, tugging and twisting it between her fingers while she talked. "I keep having this nightmare about fire. Everything is on fire. That wasn't so bad. But now..."

"But now what?" Logan pressed, a bad feeling settling in.

Her frightened dark gaze sent a chill up his spine. "There's a man with yellow eyes. He keeps telling me I'm special, but he wants me to do...things."

All the hairs on this arms and neck stood out stiffly and his blood ran cold. "What kind o' things?"

Kitty's eyes dropped back to the floor and she shrugged again. "Bad things," she whispered as another shudder ran through her.

A man with yellow eyes? Some kind of mutant trying to control the kids through their dreams? Now that sounded like one of Dean's crappy movies. Or could it be one-a the things Dean hunted? He needed to make that call. Now.

"Kitty, I got to call Hunter. After that, we c'n go to the kitchen and make a fresh pot of coffee," Logan offered.

"Coffee?" Kitty asked in amazement.

"Help keep ya awake," he explained. Logan didn't need to be an empath to understand her relief.


	25. Chapter 25: Issues

Chapter 25: **Issues**

John sat at the cheap motel room table with today's paper spread in front of him while Dean's light breathing filled the room. Adam had worn poor Dean out, his oldest had crashed within minutes of arriving in their motel room. It had been a good weekend, but tomorrow they would head back to that Institute. All right, fine, so they had been a little helpful with finding ways for Dean to cope with his 'mutant' gene and ability. John was certain between him and Bobby they would have figured out how to deal with it on their own, just maybe not as quickly.

Again the image of Dean outside the bar, as sharp and clear as shattered crystal, burst forth in his mind. Eyes glazed over. Still. Dead.

Then again, maybe this Institute thing had been a blessing in disguise. John sighed and rubbed his temples in slow circles. Issues between them John had never seen, much less attempted to reconcile, had come up in Dean's therapy sessions. They still had a long way to go, but John could not help but feel they had already traveled a good way up the road toward a healthy relationship. God, he was starting to sound like McCoy. So much had happened in the last month, it felt more like years had passed since the day he had discovered his son carried a mutant gene.

Out of earshot of the boys, John had told Kate that a genetic disease had been found in his family and he wanted to screen Adam. She had promised to take a blood sample and send it for analysis to one of the labs from a list Xavier had given him. John honestly hoped the gene came from his wife's side of the family or that Dean's was an isolated first generation mutation. They had not found in it his blood-work, but McCoy had said it could not rule him out as the carrier.

Jesus, what if it had come from his wife? Or him? That meant Sammy might carry it too. What if it hit Sam with the same intensity it had hit Dean? There was no one there to look after him, to understand...

"Stop it," Dean mumbled in his sleep.

John pushed his worry deep down and focused on his memory of his oldest as a happy toddler. He watched as the tension in Dean's body drifted away, the set of his shoulders relaxing and the stress lines in his face disappearing. John waited several minutes to be certain it had worked before returning his focus to the newspaper.

A familiar rock tune emanated from beside Dean's bed. His son sat bolt upright with bleary eyes. "Got it," he muttered, his hand slapping in the general area of his cell phone. He picked it up and snapped it open without looking at the screen. "Yeah?"

John watched curiously to see who was calling, if it might be Adam already. He certainly wouldn't put it past the boy.

"Wait a minute. Hold on." Dean dropped the phone to rub both hands over his face. He shook his head sharply before picking up the phone again. "Come again?" His eyes were more focused now.

Deep lines appeared in his brow and between his eyes as he listened. "No," Dean finally replied, "that doesn't sound good. Okay, here's what I want you to do. Go find salt, and I mean a lot of it. I want you to pour a solid ring of salt around her bed, and make sure there aren't any breaks in it. Then put a line of salt across her windowsill and doorway." He listened again. "Salt is pure, it keeps out a lot of things. Dad and I will head out now, but we won't be there before tomorrow night. It's a twenty hour drive."

They were leaving now? John gathered up and stacked his newspaper. Once it was in a decent pile, he headed to the bathroom to collect his and Dean's toiletries, all the while keeping an ear tuned to Dean's conversation.

"Do you have Bobby's number? You might be able to talk him into flying out tomorrow," Dean suggested. "Yeah, okay, I'll call him for you. No problem. … What for? … What kind of recon mission?"

John froze with his hand deep in his duffel, shoving items inside. He waited, heart pounding in his chest with his eyes resting on his son. Recon? Maybe he had been partially right and this Institute was a cover for a mutant army, and now they thought they had recruited Dean.

Dean met his gaze and shrugged. "Guess I'll find out when we get there. … Check in? Dude, get real. But seriously, call me if Kitty or anyone else has more of these dreams or if there are any flickering lights or scratching noises like rats in the walls. … Dead serious. I think Dad is packed, so we'll hit the road. See ya tomorrow night. … You too."

"Him too what?" John tried to ask casually.

"Be careful," Dean said with a deadly serious face. "What do you think? One of the kids is dreaming of fire and a man with yellow eyes who is telling her to do some pretty nasty things."

"I think we need to hit the road," John said, hefting his duffel over his shoulder. "I'll drive while you call Bobby. He might have some ideas."

"Did you get all of my stuff?" Dean asked nodding at the bathroom.

"Even your new shampoo," John promised.

"Good." Dean hit the floor with socked feet, otherwise still fully dressed. He grabbed his boots with one hand and his duffel with the other. "Let's go. I have a bad feeling about this." Dean looked him in the eye. "And so do you."

"You know," John said as he followed his son out into the night, "I think I liked it better when you pretended you didn't know how I felt."

"Yeah, well, life sucks," Dean snapped. He tossed his duffel in the back.

"I think you're more irritable now, too," John observed as he added his duffel to the back seat.

Dean grunted as he dropped into the passenger seat, phone in hand.

"Maybe you just need more beauty sleep," John added as he slipped behind the wheel.

Dean rolled his eyes as he pressed the phone to ear. John decided to ponder the question of if his son required more sleep in addition to more food while Dean called Bobby. Considering how little attention Dean had required growing up, he was certainly making up for it now. In spades.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Kitty asked warily.

Logan shrugged. "It's what Dean, I mean Hunter, said to do. Trust me, he'd know." He had already pulled Kitty's bed away from the wall. Now he opened the salt container to pour a thick line around her bed. Easier said than done. About halfway around, he ran out of salt.

"We better go see if we c'n find some more," Logan grumbled.

"What is salt supposed to do?" Kitty pestered as they headed back for the kitchens.

"Keep out bad stuff," Logan told her.

"Bad dreams?" she pressed. "How can salt help with bad dreams?"

"Yes, Logan," Xavier's voice broke into their conversation. "How is salt supposed to help with nightmares?"

Logan paused in his trek to turn and face the Professor. "I ain't sure it's just a dream," he admitted reluctantly. The more Kitty told him, the more it sounded like it was one of Dean's jobs.

"Nonsense," Xavier snapped. "Kitty dear, will you allow me to prove this is simply a dream?" Kitty glanced nervously between them. "I promise, it won't hurt and it will only take a moment. To put both yours and Logan's minds at ease?" He smiled sweetly and Logan watched her cave to Xavier's request.

"Come here," the Professor instructed. Kitty stepped forward slowly. When she stood by his chair, she closed her eyes. "I see you've been eavesdropping on some of my sessions again."

Kitty giggled as Xavier lifted his hands to her head. He placed two fingers to each of her temples. "Now think about your dream, Kitty." His voice was real soft and gentle.

Kitty clasped her hands in front of her as her expression changed with concentration. Her thin pale hands clutched tightly together, her knuckles white from the strain. Kitty's soft pink lower lip disappeared under her front teeth as her eyes squeezed closed, creating wrinkles at the corners. The Professor's usually calm face twisted in a grimace until his hands dropped away.

"Logan?" he asked in a soft voice. "When is Hunter due to return?"

"Sometime t'morrow night," Logan stated as the Professor's eyes slowly opened.

"He gave you instructions regarding Kitty's dreams?" Xavier asked in the same voice.

"Yeah, ta put a circle of salt around her bed, and a line in front of her window and door." Logan waited while the Professor sat thinking with his hands steepled. He was just startin' to wonder if Xavier heard him when the steepled fingers dropped.

"Logan," Xavier said as his eyes turned on him, "I believe we will require quite a bit more salt than is currently available in the kitchens."

* * *

"Great, Bobby. Thanks. We won't be there until late tomorrow night," Dean was saying. "I really appreciate it. See ya then."

He closed his cell and slumped back against the seat. "God, if it's not one thing it's another," he groused, one fist rubbing at his eye. "Can't I have just one god-damn good day?"

"Did you?" John asked, surprised. "Have a good day, I mean."

He waited in a strained silence until Dean finally huffed, "Yeah. Guess I did." His oldest shrugged. "You were right, he is a good kid."

Dean's cell went off again. He looked at the screen and frowned before sliding it open. "Yeah? … How many more?" He groaned as his head slammed back against the seat. "Okay, stay by the phone. I'm going to call you back in about two minutes."

Dean lowered the cell to disconnect the call and choose another number.

"More problems?" John asked.

"It's the whole damn school," he growled. "They're all having dreams of fire, and about a dozen of 'em are dreaming of the man with yellow eyes. Oh, this really sucks." He pressed the phone back against his ear. "Come on, Bobby. Pick up."

John silently agreed. He had had no idea what they were getting into with this whole Institute business. Every one of his instincts had screamed at him it was a bad idea, and now he knew why. Fire and yellow eyes? Uh-oh. He must be tired, it took him too long to make this connection.

"Dean? Son? I think we need to talk for a minute," John said slowly.

Dean's head snapped to the side. "Bobby? I'm going to call you right back. Stay by the phone, it's important." He closed his cell with a definitive snap. "What?"

John breathed deeply before plunging in. "It's a demon."

He could feel Dean's scouring gaze. "What's a demon?"

"The fire? And yellow eyes? It's a demon," John repeated. He took a deep breath before continuing. "The same one who killed your mother."

John braced himself for the backlash from this one. The only sounds in the car were from the steady hum of the Impala's engine and the road rolling beneath them. Then he heard the click of Dean's cell opening.

"Bobby? It's a demon. I need the title and page number of any books you have on defensive wards for demons. … No, I want the exact page number, go look it up." Dean dug through his glove compartment until he found some paper and a pen. "Yeah, I'm ready, go ahead. … What will that one do? … Really? Cool. What else do you have? … Awesome. How long? … Well, that sucks. Talk to the professor when you get there. Maybe he has some connections and can get them faster. … Great. See you then."

Dean hung up with Bobby and redialed the Institute. "Yeah, it's me. I need you to find Libby. … You know, The Librarian? Libby. I'll wait."

"The Librarian?" John asked, astounded by the lack of imagination in these stupid names.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replied with a shrug. "You'd think a guy who is around kids all the time would be a little more creative." His fingers drummed on the door armrest while he waited. "So how long have you been holding out on me with this demon business?"

John debated on whether or not to answer truthfully, despite the fact Dean would undoubtedly know the instant he lied.

"Libby?" Dean's voice shut down his internal dialogue. "Awesome. Listen, picture the book Demonic Lore and the Catholic Church. Got it? … Great. Now page three hundred sixty-seven. Is there a big symbol there, a circle with a pentagram and whole bunch of squiggly looking things in the spaces? … Great. On page five-ninety-one there's another symbol. Here's what we need you to do. Draw those symbols for Xavier. It needs to be a perfect copy of what's on that pages of the book. All right? … Yeah, it's important. Now put Xavier back on. … Professor, the first symbol Libby is going to draw for you will trap a demon. If you can paint that on the floor or ceiling in front of every outer door and window of the mansion, a demon might get in, but it won't be going anywhere. The second symbol is a general protective ward. Bobby's heading your way too. He's flying in, so he'll be there first thing in the morning. Have Logan pick him up, he has the keys to Dad's truck. … Yeah, I think the salt will keep 'em out, this is just in case that doesn't work." Dean grunted. "Actually, I might have an idea. By the time we arrive, Dad and I should have a plan. Let me know if the situation changes."

Dean set his cell on the seat between them. "We're going to pretend I never asked how long you were holding out on me," he said slowly. "Now I'm going to catch a little sleep before the sun comes up, because your kid freaking wore me out."

John flinched at the overt accusation. Dean had a point. Why couldn't they be allowed one good day without some supernatural crap to ruin it?

"When I wake up, we're going to talk about ways of demon-proofing the mansion. Bobby has a line on some kind of charm that protects the wearer from possession, but to get enough for all the kids could take months. So until I wake up, get rid of those guilty feelings. You being gooey is easier to deal with," he snapped.

So John did what had been working the past few days, the memory of Dean right after he learned to walk. Chubby toddler bow-legs clomping all around the house while the baby boy clutched his favorite toy, a plastic fire-truck, with his roly-poly arms and fat fingers.

"Better," Dean mumbled, his head dropping until his chin dug into his chest with his eyes closed.

John sighed as he reached over to grab his son by the shoulder. "Come here," he said gruffly. "Lie down."

"Dad, I'm too big to-" Dean started to protest.

"You're still my kid," John snapped as he gently shoved Dean's head on to his thigh. "Now go to sleep."

He concentrated on that image of cute little Dean while his son stared up at him before those green eyes closed and soft snores rose from below his right arm. Dean slept soundly while John concentrated on driving and not feeling guilty. His solution of thinking of Dean as a toddler wouldn't work forever. To clear up his guilt, John would have to come clean with Dean at some point. During the drive? It could be the last opportunity they would have to be alone for a while. John sighed heavily as he lowered his hand to rub his fingers over his son's short hair.

"Gooey," Dean mumbled in his sleep.

John had to smile at that. "Better believe it," he whispered.


	26. Chapter 26: Accepting Challenges

Chapter 26: **Accepting Challenges**

The steering wheel felt good and solid in his hands, the vibrations of the road natural against his palms. One of the great lakes was visible on their left while the countryside changed from city to rural on their right. The sky overhead was cloudy but not overcast and Dean needed his shades to counter the sun's glare off the water.

A short grumbling noise accompanied Dad running both hands through his hair before looking out the passenger window. "I ran it down about a year ago," he said slowly. "It took me a while to figure out it was a demon. Since then, I've been working on a way of tracking it. I think I've figured out its pattern."

"Which is?" Dean pressed.

"It visits certain kids when they turn six months old. Exactly six months," Dad emphasized.

"Dad?" Dean asked, feeling a little scared. "How old was Sam when, uh..."

"Six months," Dad confirmed. "To the day."

"Crap," he breathed. Between the new information, what it might mean for Sammy, and Dad's combination of anger and guilt, Dean had to pull off the road while he could still see straight. They sat in relative silence beside the highway with semis blowing past, causing even the heavy Impala to shake. His mouth and throat bone dry, Dean attempted to swallow. Dragging his eyes from the safety of the needle sitting at 0 on his speedometer, Dean looked at his Dad. "But if it picks on infants, why would the demon want to bug a bunch a teenagers?"

Dad shook his head, dark eyes piercing and intense. "I don't know," he said heavily. "I guess it's up to even more than I thought." He scratched at his heavy stubble with one hand. "Maybe these kids were all visited when they were six months old?"

Dean's hand darted to the seat between them for his cell. "Follow-up visits? Holy crap. What the hell does it want?"

Dad's large hand closed over his and Dean could feel the strength of his father's determination and the depth of commitment to figuring this out. "I'm... I mean, _we're_ going to figure this out, Dean. There's no need to alarm anyone unnecessarily. So far it's just a theory."

But Dad was still holding back. There was more, Dean was certain of it. "And?" he pressed.

Dad released his hand to stare out the window towards the water. "I was wondering if the demon focuses on mutants. It wouldn't explain why it skipped you, but it might explain why so many of the kids at the Institute have been dreaming of fire."

Dean looked down at the phone clutched in his hand. "Maybe I should call Jim, too?"

"Yeah," Dad breathed. "We might need more help on this one, son. Here, let me do it. I owe him an apology anyway."

"For what?" Dean asked as he passed over his cell.

Another tidal wave of guilt tore through the car. "For borrowing his cabin without letting him know." Dad glanced over. "I kind of took Adam camping."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I thought it might be you, except you weren't even supposed to be in the state."

"Sorry?" Dad's eyes sought forgiveness. Again.

Dean growled to himself as he threw his baby back in drive and checked traffic. "Just make the call," he ground out. It wasn't that Dad had lied... Yes it was. That was exactly it. Dad had lied about Adam, his existence, tracking a freaking demon, and had sneaked around behind Dean's back continuously. He had trusted his father implicitly, blindly, and look what it had earned him. Instead of trusting his judgment, Dad had taken a plunge off the deep end which had raised his stress level to the point of fully activating the mutant gene. Now Dad was doing some major backpedaling, granted, but could it ever be enough? Even if Dad had called and said "Dean, you're busted. I saw you. What the hell is going on?" it would have been better than what really happened. And he was a little tired of being the one always forgiving.

Food. He needed food, he was feeling irritable again. His hand dove inside his jacket pocket to retrieve a power-bar. Dean munched on it while he concentrated on driving and ignoring Dad's normal-sounding conversation with Jim. The man had no right to sound so freaking normal. Dean shoved the rest of his snack in his mouth, trying to hurry the process of digestion.

Dad dropped the cell on the seat between them. "I think there's a diner up ahead. Why don't we stop and pick up some real food?"

Dean nodded, unable to speak well with his mouth crammed full. "Ooo 'ink mm rear-ble," he accused.

"You are irritable," Dad said calmly. "We're going to sit down, eat, and then you're going to talk to me."

"Out 'at?" Dean demanded, still chewing.

"About what?" Dad repeated. "About why you're so angry. And don't bother denying it, your ears are red."

Disapproval. Dad disapproved of him being angry? Oh, now that was freaking rich! Dean shot a quick glare at his father before taking the next exit. Even if Dad was being an ass, food sounded like a real good idea. The diner didn't look like the best place he had ever stopped, but it would do for now. Dean parked in clear view of the windows so he would be able to keep an eye on his car from inside.

* * *

Logan stood on the front porch and watched as a thick line of salt poured from the back of a yellow dump truck. It was amazing what throwing a little money at people could make 'em do. He hoped the two foot deep and foot wide trench around the mansion would keep out the kind of baddies he couldn't sink his claws inta.

"Logan!" Summers barked from the front door. His team leader walked over to stand beside him. "I take it this is Hunter's doing? The salt?"

"He suggested it," Logan replied with a grunt. "But it's the Professor who came up with this." He waved a hand at the truck.

"And this is supposed to stop the kids from having nightmares about fire?" Summer's face twisted in a sour frown. "Really?"

"I don't know about the dreams, but it's s'posed to keep out whatever's behind 'em," Logan explained.

"Behind the dreams?" Summers let out a disdainful chuckle and Logan rolled his eyes. "Any idea 'what' is behind the dreams?"

"Xavier didn' tell ya?" Logan smirked. "Huh. Must not think you'll believe it." He shook his head slowly, like he couldn't believe it himself.

"Logan!"

Oh, that woman's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. The shrill sound set his teeth on edge. It was no wonder he never went inta the library.

"There you are," the Librarian said in a breathless voice, papers clutched in her hand. "Just a moment." She put on the spectacles hangin' from her neck to read over her papers before thrusting one of the pages at him. "Professor Xavier would like you to cut this into the stone just inside the front door. He said he will have some professionals come in later and fill it in with brass. We're going to use paint for now."

"Right." Logan accepted the paper from her. He looked over the symbol with all the squiggly lines. "I take it it's got ta be exactly like this?"

"Um, yes," she said absently as she shuffled through her sheaf. "Mister Summers? I believe the Professor wanted you to paint this on the front doors." The Librarian squinted at it, rotating it several times before settling on an 'up' direction. "It's a protection symbol recommended by Mister Singer."

Summers took it from her outstretched hand. "Protection from what?"

"Demons." Singer's rough voice was a welcome sound. "Looks like one of 'em is targeting your school."

"Demons?" Summers chuckled. "Oh, come on. Seriously, what's with the salt and the symbols?"

Singer glared at Summers like he was the biggest idiot he had ever met. "Like I said. Demons." He turned to nod in greeting. "Logan. Good to see you. How's the salt perimeter coming?"

Logan used his paper to point out the dump truck. "Looks like they'll finish before dark."

"Well we won't unless you get a move on," Singer barked. "I've got teachers salting students' rooms, protection wards going on all the outside doors, and traps like that one for inside."

"Trap?" Logan asked, his spine stiffening with the thought. "As in, trap a demon?"

"Okay, let's assume for one second you're not making all this up," Summers interrupted. Singer's eyes rolled all the way back into his head, which was shaking slowly back and forth. "Why would you want to trap something like a demon inside the mansion? Shouldn't that go on the outside?"

Singer stepped right up in Summers' personal space with a cold glare. "Son, have you ever seen an exorcism?" he demanded. Summers shrugged and shook his head as he leaned backwards, but Singer leaned in even closer. "Well I have. It ain't pretty. Not exactly the kind of thing you want the neighbors watching." He let out a loud snort as he backed off. "Idjit."

Singer spun on one heel to march quickly back to the house. "And git to work!" Singer snapped before disappearing indoors.

"He's serious?" Summers asked incredulously.

"Dead serious," Logan agreed. He carried his paper towards the house.

"You don't believe this," Summers dogged, following closely. "Logan? You can't believe this garbage."

Logan turned around slowly, considering his options. The Librarian stood right behind Summers, her eyes real big behind her specs.

"I seen a wendigo," he told Summers. "If it weren't for Hunter, that thing could still be feedin' on me. So yeah, I guess I do believe it. And I ain't lookin' to lock horns with no demon, so I got work ta do."

"Wendigo?" The Librarian asked, her face paling. "As in, a human being who became addicted to eating human flesh, acquiring the speed and cunning of a nearly perfect predator?"

"That's it," Logan agreed, turning his back on the twin expressions of disbelief. "Nasty critter."

* * *

John watched warily as Dean polished off the blueplate special. While they waited on a serving of pie, his son's gaze finally met his and there was smoldering anger in the familiar hazel green. Great. What had he done now?

"Feel better?" he asked conversationally, knowing it could open up a big damn can of worms.

Dean leaned forward on the table and by the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw, John knew whatever his son wanted now would not be easy. Then the look softened.

"I'm tired of being mad at you." Dean slumped back against the bench seat. "So is there anything else you've been holding out on? Now's the time, Dad."

Grace period. Amnesty. And most likely a one-time offer.

"I figured out it was a demon about six months ago," John informed his son. "I have a line on something that, if it's real, will kill it. And I mean dead, not just gone for now. But the guy I was sure had it claims he doesn't so I've hit a temporary dead-end there. But if he doesn't have it and it is real, then someone else has to have it, so I need to find that person. I've been making contacts with other hunters to that end.

"I've been working on a method for tracking demons. I don't have it all worked out yet, it's still just an idea, but with some additional research I think I'll figure it out." John took a deep breath as their waitress approached.

"Two slices of pie, with ice cream." She slid the plates in front of them. "Here's the ticket, pay up front when you're ready. Can I bring you fellas anything else?"

Dean was still staring wide-eyed at him.

"I could use more coffee," John told her. "We still have a long drive in front of us." The silence continued until she had freshened both of their cups.

"There's more?" Dean asked in disbelief, pulling his pie closer.

John waited for his son to begin chewing before opening the larger, and more complicated, can of worms.

"That's all about the demon. But you said anything I've been holding out on?" Dean gave him a curious look and a nod. He took a deep breath before making this plunge.

"I think Sam planned on picking a fight with me so he could go to Stanford," John said. He could see the anger beginning in Dean's face.

"You said you wanted it all," he reminded his son. "Now let me finish. I, uh, let him."

Dean's face froze in mid-chew. Both eyebrows rose slowly and his eyes widened. "Mmmm?"

John didn't need a translator for this. "Well, I couldn't very well approve of Sam going to college, now could I? I mean, when you got your GED I told you, point-blank, that was enough school. How could I let Sam go after that?"

Dean scowled and pointed his fork coated with pie filling at himself.

"No, I'm not blaming you," John snapped. "I was trying to be fair. Not play favorites."

Dean's eyes rolled all around as his jaw worked furiously through his mouthful of pie. "Are you freaking kidding me?" he demanded when his mouth was clear. Well, mostly. "That was your idea of not playing favorites?"

John scratched nervously behind one ear. "Yeah?"

"Anything else?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Uh, well, considering how the fight with Sam went down, and the fact he won't speak to either of us now, I promised Kate not to tell Adam about the supernatural." John sipped at his coffee. "And I promised for you too."

Dean snorted as he sliced off another hunk of pie. "Yeah, well, we'll see about that."

"Dean, I promised you wouldn't tell him," John repeated. He wondered if his son misunderstood.

"I heard you," Dean replied before shoving more pie in his mouth. He chewed through it before continuing, "You shoulda asked me. We'll see."

"Meaning?" John demanded.

Dean swallowed the rest. "Meaning, if he figures it out or asks, I'm telling him the truth." Dean shot him a glare. "I know how to be a good brother, Dad. I won't screw it up."

John frowned as he watched Dean devour the rest of his pie. John shoved his untouched plate closer. Dean gave him a slight nod of thanks before digging in. When he cleaned his plate by scraping the remains off with his fork, John felt it was all right to speak again.

"Dean, you know you were more than a brother to Sam..." he tried to explain, but Dean held up a hand.

"Forget it, Dad. I guess if he really needs something one of us will hear from him." Dean gave the second dirty plate a push away from him. "And if one of us had done a better job, maybe he'd still be around."

"You do mean me," John said.

Dean gave him a funny look before snagging the bill off the end of the table. Without a word, he left the table to go pay the cashier. John followed slowly, pondering his son's statement. Could Dean blame himself for his brother leaving and, well, being an ass? Oh, this was so going to be a topic in their next session with McCoy. If anyone deserved to be blamed it was John, and if anyone should be held above the mire he and Sam had created between them, it was Dean.

This was going to be a long six hours.

* * *

Sam surveyed the large apartment. It wasn't furnished, but that was all right. Sam figured he could scrounge up some furniture. The alleys around here were packed with the cast-offs of well-to-do people. Their trash was often better than what Sam could afford to buy.

With careful budgeting, he should be able to afford even this large apartment, a brand new bed, and have enough left over to feed him for the rest of the school year. He had never slept on a mattress that had never been used before. The thought of it was intoxicating. Sam didn't care if the bedframe was used, but he wanted that new mattress. Those metal underframes were supposed to be cheap, that might be a good option.

He signed the agency's paperwork and handed over a check for the first month's rent. The management company's representative, an older woman with shellacked silver hair, handed over the keys with a reminder that the rent was due no later than the second of every month. He escorted her out, anxious to see what it felt like to have one place all to himself.

Sam explored the den, kitchen and bedroom by himself. It felt...empty. For a moment, Sam half expected Dean to come barging through the door announcing he had found a table or chair 'just like new'. However this time, it would have to be Sam to find everything. That was all right. He was up for the challenge. First things first, though. Was there a mattress store within walking distance?


	27. Chapter 27: Protection

Chapter 27: **Protection**

Dean stared at the foot wide salt ring around the mansion in disbelief.

"Iron woulda been better," Bobby said, moving to stand beside him.

Dean swung out a hand to encompass the monstrosity. "Dude, I told him to salt the doorways, not the whole freaking school!"

"Well, you have to give him an A for effort." Dad chuckled. "It might hold until we talk him into using your idea."

"Which is?" Bobby demanded with a strong look at Dean. Despite the hard expression, Dean could tell his old friend was curious to hear it.

"If there's a protection symbol that would fit the layout of the school, with the mansion at the center of it, we could lay it out on the grounds with iron and concrete," Dean explained.

Bobby stared him, his face impassive but bursting with pride on the inside. When he realized the pride was in him, Dean felt heat creep into his face with embarrassment. It was easier when he believed no one took his ideas, or him, seriously.

"It's a good idea," Dad told Bobby in a defensive tone. "It should work."

"Yeah, it oughta work," Bobby snapped back with a glare. "But we need to find the exact right symbol first, because this is going to be a major pain in the ass and I don't wanna have to redo it."

"I don't suppose you have any of your books with you?" Dad asked. "I have a few reference volumes in the truck."

"You don't need those," Dean replied as he walked away, in the direction of the library. "Wait until you see this!"

He could feel his dad and Bobby rushing to catch up with him as he walked across the lush green lawn.

"See what?" Dad demanded in his typical hard, commanding voice. Then he cleared his throat before continuing in a nicer tone. "What are you taking us to see?" Dad was trying. He sucked at being nice, but at least he was trying.

Shock and confusion poured from Bobby and Dean chuckled. "The library," he replied as he mounted the front stairs. "Come on."

* * *

The outside was similar to most university libraries, far too fancy for a city library. John shot Bobby a nasty glare in response to all the weird looks coming his way. He was trying here, he didn't need Bobby letting him know he should be working harder at it.

Dean led them straight to the mythology and legend section. His son was right, this was an amazing collection.

"I can't believe they have this," Bobby muttered in awe. "Are you sure nobody here believed in the supernatural before?"

"Yep," Dean replied happily. "Libby is just really thorough. Where do you want to start?"

Bobby scanned through the shelves before snagging two books to thrust into Dean's hands. "Dean, I want you to go through these. Make copies of symbols you think we could use so I can compare them to mine and your daddy's." He selected two others in Latin for John before taking two for himself. "Let's find a place to work."

Dean led them to long study tables, dark stained wood with small lamps set at regularly spaced intervals down the length of the table. The chairs were matching dark wood with padded seats.

"Come here often, son?" John asked curiously as he chose a chair facing his child. The indirect lighting throughout the library was not quite enough to read by comfortably. John turned on the lamp between him and Dean with a sharp click of its pull chain. Low level light, perfect for reading without eye strain, flowed over his books.

"Libraries are good places for figuring stuff out," Dean told him. Ah, so this was where Dean liked to disappear to when he was upset. Good to know. John made a mental note of it, oddly relieved to know his son came to a place like this instead of running to one of the characters who lived here. (Not a freak, John told himself, there were no freaks here.)

The three of them settled into a comfortable silence as they worked. Occasionally one of them would leave the table for a few minutes to copy a page. John noticed after Dean made a copy, he would turn the paper over and make notes regarding what the symbol was typically used to protect against. Good idea. John flipped back in his books to make similar notes for the two symbols he had already copied.

"Hunter?" A female voice intruded on their research.

Dean turned a smiling face on a woman who was far too young to dress so old. Her long, flower-patterned dress looked more like it belonged on a frumpy elderly librarian. She even had old-fashioned black frame glasses hanging around her neck.

"Hey, Libby," Dean said in the smooth voice he reserved for women. "How's it going?"

"All right." She stopped by their table, close to Dean he noticed. "More research?"

Dean gave her a nod. "We're looking for a really powerful protection symbol to use for the school."

Her lips pursed for a moment, then a bright smile erupted. "Maybe I can help. I'll be right back."

Dean watched her walk away.

"Not much to see there," John said conversationally.

Dean shot him a quizzical glance. "Dude, way too young for you."

John chuckled. "Damn right."

Bobby snorted disdainfully, causing Dean to grin. "Back to work," he barked with a wave of his hand over their books.

Dean chuckled as his head dropped down to read his book. Bobby shot John a nasty glare before lowering his gaze as well. He might be out of the doghouse with Dean, but clearly Bobby was another matter. As John directed his attention to the book open in front of him, he debated on whether or not to pursue the matter with his old friend. However, maintaining a decent relationship with Dean was more important, so John decided to ignore Bobby for now. That was a can of worms which could stay closed. Then again, considering what Xavier had to say about Bobby, the problems he was having could be directly related to Dean's issue with him. Well, with any luck, it could all go away.

Music played from Dean's pocket. Dean frowned as he pulled out his cell. He shrugged at John before answering.

"Hello? … Oh, hey. What's going on?" A relaxed smile, the kind John didn't see very often, graced his son's face. "No kidding? So what'd you do?"

Now John wanted to know who was on the other end of that phone.

Dean chuckled. "Oh, bad move, dude. What happened?" His son leaned back in the chair and stretched.

The woman named Libby returned with another book. She handed it to Dean with a frown, staring pointedly at the phone. He motioned for her to come closer.

"It's that kid I told you about," he whispered, covering the speaker with one hand.

She beamed at him with a nod of her head before leaving them to their work. Dean wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear as he opened the book she had given him. His eyes widened at the title page. He poked Bobby in the shoulder and shoved the book in front of the other hunter.

"You should've told her she's pretty," Dean said into the phone. "Girls like that."

"God," Bobby breathed. "I only heard of this, I've never seen it. I wasn't sure it really existed."

"What?" John demanded. Between the phone call with Adam and the book he was feeling rather left out.

"Hey, Adam? Can I call you later? Maybe tonight?" Dean asked. "Sure, dude. I'll call before then. Later."

Dean snapped his phone closed. "That's the one you said you've been trying to find, right?" he asked Bobby.

"Protection Symbols of the World," Bobby whispered reverently. "This is like the holy grail of supernatural protection. Every protection symbol, how it was used, by nearly every human society to walk the Earth is supposed to be recorded in here. If we can't find what we need in this book, we won't find it."

"How did you know Bobby was looking for this book?" John asked his son. "And what was Adam calling about? Girls? He's a little young to be worried about girls."

"God, Dad, Bobby's only talking about it all the time." Dean's eyes rolled. "And Adam isn't too young for girls. I went out with a fifteen year old cheerleader when I was his age." He winked at Bobby. "Miss-sy," he said with an exaggerated slowness.

Bobby groaned and shook his head. "I was so glad when you finally stopped talkin' about her." He checked the index of the book. "Oh, now this looks promisin'."

Dean scooted closer to look over Bobby's shoulder. Missy? The name sounded vaguely familiar. Why would Bobby remember something like that? More than a little disturbed, John shifted to focus his attention on the book as well, hoping it would distract him from his feelings of inadequacy as a father. No wonder Sam left like he had.

* * *

Sam stared at the library computer screen with a frown. The Xavier Institute was supposed to be a private school for the gifted and talented, but they weren't exactly known for university level scholarships. According to their official website, they specialized in children. He hadn't even heard of them before, why would they offer him a scholarship?

He tried to remember all the places he had applied to, but the list was far too long. Sam had spent months finding organizations who offered college scholarships so he could afford to leave for school. He had applied to all of them, regardless of if he actually qualified. After all, the worst they could do was say no. He might have applied to Xavier, it was not out of the realm of possibility.

Now Sam searched for news stories about the Institute or the town where it was located. Considering it was in a low crime area, there were a number of hits. He read through several, which sounded innocuous individually. However, when taken as a whole, to have that many in one area was highly suspicious, especially the ones about 'incidents'. He considered, for a whole ten seconds, calling his brother and asking Dean to check it out for him.

Although Sam knew Dean would do it, he also knew the level of harassment and apologies it would take. No way. Besides, Dean would undoubtedly take it as permission to 'drop by' Stanford. While it would be nice to actually play a challenging game of pool occasionally, Sam did not need the distraction from his studies. Dean specialized in being a distraction.

Someone sat at the computer next to his. Sam ignored it, inventing new reasons why he did not want to contact his brother. Besides, Dean would start hounding him to hunt again. That was the last thing Sam wanted to do.

"Hi," a voice whispered from his immediate right.

Sam turned his head slowly. Jessica Moore from his Lit class sat at the next computer. Her smile was wide and warm.

"Aren't you Sam?" she asked in a soft voice.

All thoughts of Institutes or news-worthy incidents fled from his mind. "Uh, yeah," he replied as a smile spread on his face. "Jessica, right? You sit on the front row of our English Lit class."

Jessica nodded at him. "What do you think of our new assignment?"

Sam killed his search screen before she could see what he had been doing. "I'd love to discuss it over coffee," he offered. "I'll buy."

She stood slowly to face him. "Oooh, big spender."

Sam chuckled as he gathered his book bag. "Actually, I just got a new scholarship and I was wondering what I could do to celebrate."

"Scholarship?" Jessica asked, walking beside him. "Well congratulations." Her smile was blinding. "Does that mean you can afford cream for my coffee?"

He laughed as he held the front door open for her. "Anything you want," Sam assured her, walking out into the bright California sunlight. "Even sugar."

* * *

Adam was sprawled across the living room couch watching television, his gaze darting periodically to the silent telephone. When it rang, Adam's hand flashed out for it.

"Hello?" A bright grin spread on his face. Kate breathed in relief. About damn time Dean returned her son's call. "Hey, Dean! Did I call during your class or something?"

Kate tuned them out to concentrate on her newspaper. After all, what could Adam have to talk about with a twenty-three year old? He was just infatuated with the idea of having an older brother, that was all. Once the novelty wore off, things would settle back down to normal.

"You're sure I should tell her she's pretty?" Adam asked.

Her attention snapped from the paper to her son. Adam had the sound on the television turned all the way down and a very serious expression on his face. He was in to girls? Already?? Oh, please no!

"Huh?" Her son's face twisted in confusion. "Uh, more than a week. … Yeah, I'm sure. … Totally sure, Dean. Why? Haven't you dated a girl for more than a week?" Adam listened intently. "I don't think I'd like that," he said slowly, "but obviously you're good at first dates. I was thinking of asking her to go to the movies." A grin spread on his face and Kate did not like the looks of it. "Yeah?" Adam asked. "How good?"

She made a mad dash for the extension in her bedroom. Her son was talking about girls with a twenty-three year old! Oh, God, if this conversation required a rating she would kill John Winchester with her bare hands. Kate carefully lifted the receiver, knowing she would be caught but at least she should be able to catch enough of the conversation to determine what the hell Dean was telling her son.

"...and just one bag of popcorn so you have to share," Dean was saying, "that way your hands can touch."

"Oh, nice," Adam replied. "What about hotdogs and nachos?"

"No way, dude," Dean said. "No guy looks good eating a hotdog and nachos are messy. Besides, it's too expensive. If you want a meal, take her out someplace. But, you know, considering you're thirteen, eat before you go and just stick to watching a movie and trying to hold her hand."

Kate released the breath she had been holding.

"Mom? Is that you?" Adam asked. Busted. "Mom, I'm on the phone."

"Uh, sorry," she said, trying to sound apologetic. "I didn't realize you were still talking. Was that Dean I heard? Dean? How was the drive back?"

"Hi, Kate." He didn't sound surprised that she was on the phone. "The drive was fine. We kind of arrived in the middle of a school crisis, so I haven't had time to ask about that seminar."

"Oh, no problem," she assured him hastily. "I hope it's nothing serious?"

"We're not sure yet," Dean said slowly, "but we're not going to take any chances either."

That sounded like his two jobs had collided, but at the same time, she didn't want to know. She really, really did not want to know. "Well, you'll let me know if you can?"

"You bet. Would you mind if I said good-bye to Adam?" He sounded so polite and, she had to admit, the dating advice was very age appropriate.

"No problem. Sorry for interrupting," Kate told him. "Take your time." She hung up her extension.

"You have your privacy now!" Kate shouted. If she went back into the kitchen to read the paper, would it still look like eavesdropping? She stared at the extension by her bed, wishing she could still hear what they were talking about. If she called Dean later, after Adam went to bed, would he tell her?

Probably not, Kate realized with a sigh. It was undoubtedly just between brothers. She was glad Adam forced her to make that call to John last year. If she had known about Dean, she would have done it long before.

* * *

"Here are the three I like," Bobby proclaimed, pinning the photocopies to Dean's wall. "Any one of 'em should work. John?"

Dean stared at the three options, mentally trying to see if one of them would fit the layout of the Institute better. While Dad and Bobby contrasted their attributes, Dean decided he needed some graph paper. He left the two older hunters talking while he walked down the hall, heading for Hank's office.

A light shone from under the door so the doc was still up. Dean rapped lightly on the door. It opened smoothly, no squeak to the hinges.

"Hunter?" Hank asked in his calm, smooth voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this late night visit?"

"I was wondering if you had any graph paper," Dean explained. "You know, from the math classes you teach?"

"Certainly." He walked serenely behind his desk to pull open one of the drawers. "Here you are. Do you require the whole pad?" Hank lifted a thick pad of graph paper from his desk.

"Nah, just a couple of sheets," Dean assured him. "We're deciding on a protection symbol for the campus."

Hank's blue brow furrowed. "Yes, Professor Xavier had mentioned the possibility. Do you really feel it necessary? I'm afraid I have no experience with things like demons, so I can not tell if all of these precautions are excessive."

Dean shrugged. "Well, it might be overkill, but considering how many kids who live here, we're pulling out all the stops."

The kind doctor nodded at him thoughtfully. "What is the graph paper for?" he asked as he lifted several sheets up and tore them cleanly from the pad.

"I want to draw the layout of the school to scale, so we can see which symbol will work best. Bobby has the list narrowed down to three he likes," Dean explained. "Hey, are you about to go to bed or anything?"

"No," Hank replied. "Actually, I am catching up on grading some papers."

"Would you mind if I worked in here for a few minutes?" Dean asked. "It's kind of noisy in my room."

Hank chuckled deeply. "I can imagine. Here, like a pencil?" He held up his pencil holder.

"Thanks." Dean snagged a pencil from the leather cup. He settled down in his favorite chair in here, the leather armchair. Hank gave him the pad too, so he would have a hard surface to work on. Dean studied the paper for a minute before deciding on his scale. He sketched in the mansion first, right in the center. From here, he added the other buildings, like the library, and the sidewalks and driveways. Last he put in the boundaries of the property.

Now he could see that one of the symbols would never work, because it had a primary line that would have to go right through the library. The other two were still in the running.

"Thanks, Hank," Dean said as he slipped the pencil in the cup on the desk. "This'll help a lot."

"Dean?" Hank peered over his reading glasses with kind eyes. "How did the meeting go? With Adam?"

"Actually, it went pretty well." Dean allowed himself to smile. "He called me earlier today to ask me about girls."

"Perhaps we could discuss it more tomorrow?" Hank asked, a cunning look in his eye.

Oh, sneaky bastard. "Time for my therapy to continue, huh?" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, all right. Tomorrow."

"Right after lunch," his doctor insisted. "You're in a better mood when you've just eaten."

"You know," Dean headed for the door, "Dad's mentioned I'm more irritable lately. Is that some kind of side-effect?"

"Perhaps," Hank said seriously. "We can discuss it tomorrow."

He could take a hint. "Later, Hank."

"Good night, Dean."


	28. Chapter 28: Best Choice

Chapter 28: **Best Choice**

Dean slipped back inside his room to Dad and Bobby arguing over the merits of the three symbols posted on his wall. He checked them against the layout of the school in his hand. Number Two was out. Dean pulled it off the wall and let it flutter to the floor. He compared the other two to his graph paper.

"Uh, Dean?" Dad bent over to pick up the symbol from the floor. "What's wrong with this one?"

"You'd have to lay one of the lines through the library. As proud as Libby is of the place, I don't see that happening," he explained as he mentally traced the others over the grounds. "Besides, it'd make a mess." Number One looked like their best fit. "I like this one." He tapped a finger on it.

"All right," Bobby said swiftly. "Would you mind telling us why?"

"Because it fits." Dean took the symbol off the wall. He placed it behind the drawing of the Institute grounds and held both pages in front of his lamp. After rotating it slowly, Dean showed how he thought it would work best. "There. Not bad, huh? No matter what, we're going to have to bust some concrete, like the sidewalks and driveways, but with this one all the buildings stay intact."

"Is that to scale?" Dad asked. Dean felt wonder and, oddly, guilt from his father.

"I'm sure it's pretty close. Tomorrow we can walk it off and make sure I didn't miss anything." He looked to his father for approval.

Suddenly, all the odd feelings of wonder and guilt washed out with the now familiar gooey-ness.

"Sounds good," Dad said firmly, all business despite exuding gooey emotions. "Well, Bobby, it looks like we have a plan. Let's hit the sack. I had them put a second bed in my room for you."

"Oh, joy," Bobby snapped. "Well, you get some rest, Dean. If you're up first in the morning, come wake us. I don't want to miss breakfast around here." A broad grin appeared. "I figure it'll be real interesting."

"Night."

Bobby looked over his choice for the symbol one more time before leaving, giving Dean a nod and a whole lot of ego-boosting prideful feelings. Dad insisted on a hug and another blast of gooey-ness as they left.

Dean double-checked the salt lines at his door and window before he allowed himself to relax in to bed. Once that symbol had been installed, he would be able to sleep easier.

* * *

"And why am I staying in your room?" Bobby demanded as they approached John's door.

"Because Dean sleeps better without anyone else in the room," John replied patiently. "It's part of the empath thing."

Bobby grunted noncommittally. Hearing John be patient was kind of like watching a Rottweiler be submissive. Neither could last long.

It had been a long damn day and Bobby was ready to hit the sack, but he needed to make use of the bathroom first. He grabbed the small canvas bag with his toothbrush and toothpaste. "Back in a few minutes."

"I'm right behind you," John said.

"Thanks for the warning," Bobby grumbled, heading out of John's room for the community bathroom.

The sound of running water greeted him when he walked in the men's room, so there was at least one other person in here. It looked like what he imagined a college dorm bathroom would be like. There were a couple of rows of toilets on one side and shower stalls along the other side. At each end were the sinks. Bobby parked at one sink, taking his stuff out of his small bag. He was scrubbing his teeth when Logan, hair dripping wet, walked up next to him.

"Singer," he said in greeting.

Bobby nodded in reply. He rinsed his mouth and spit while Logan watched, his face serious.

"Something I can do for you, Logan?" Bobby asked, washing off his toothbrush.

"Yeah." Logan glanced around and sniffed the air before he continued. "Tell me about Winchester."

"John or Dean?" he asked without missing a beat.

Logan made a sour face. "John."

"You act just like your daddy," Bobby observed. "Did you know that?"

"About that," Logan said slowly, "no, I don't." He stared at Bobby, obviously trying to impress something on him.

"No," Bobby argued, "you act just like him. He even chewed cigars like you." He chuckled. "We used to give him a hard time about that. I remember collecting matchbooks to give him."

"Filled my whole damn footlocker," Logan groused, arms folding over his chest. "I still don't know what the hell happened to my favorite socks."

The missing piece, the part Bobby had been ignoring, clicked into place. "You're Logan," he said softly.

"Told ya that," Logan replied with a nod of his head.

"No," he said slowly, his brain refusing to believe what was standing right in front of him, "I mean, you're the same Logan."

Again he received a nod in confirmation.

"Singer, if you trust Dean's father, I'll believe ya. As I recall, I owe you that much." Logan looked him up and down with hard eyes. "Gettin' old there, rookie."

Bobby felt a touch dizzy. He leaned against the counter for support. "You're, uh, a mutant too, huh? I mean, I figured as much, but..." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "You don't age?"

"I do. Just slow." He cocked an eyebrow. "Unlike some people."

A forced chuckle made its way up Bobby's throat. "I'm startin' to understand why you and Dean are friends."

"And Winchester?" Logan pressed.

Was there any way to explain John? "I'd trust him with my life," Bobby stated, "but not yours."

Logan made an impatient movement with one hand.

"You see, with John, once he decides you're family then that's it. You're in. He'd give his life to protect yours. He would do anything, and I mean anything, to protect Dean. Knowing John, he'd make a deal with the devil if his son's life were on the line," Bobby explained.

Logan frowned as his gaze shifted to the mirrors over the sinks. He studied his own reflection for a long moment. "And right now, we're the devil." Those dark eyes, just as intense as John's, locked on to Bobby. "Thanks, rookie."

There were a hundred questions Bobby wanted to ask, but the door to the men's room opened and John Winchester walked in. He gave them a curt nod before heading for the showers. Logan nodded in thanks as he tossed his wet towel over one shoulder, leaving Bobby alone with his thoughts again.

* * *

Dean woke knowing they had a game plan. With a course of action, he would have constructive things to do today. He jumped out of bed for an early morning shower. Students weren't supposed to be in the instructor's wing so Dean didn't bother to dress, choosing to wear the boxers and t-shirt he had slept in. It was early enough for the halls to be empty. In one hand he carried clean clothes and in the other he had a towel, his toiletries bag, and the new bottle of shampoo.

When he entered the men's, there was the sound of at least one shower running. Dean chose an empty shower stall. He bathed quickly, ready to start his day. Things were going well, for a change. Bobby was here. He had a new little brother who actually called for advice. Dad was behaving, at least for now. There was a salt ring around the mansion and Xavier had promised there were plenty of funds for his idea to lock down the school with a huge protection symbol.

Once Dean was dressed, he stepped out of the damp shower stall carrying his crap in one hand and rubbing his towel over his wet hair with the other. Someone was shaving over at the sinks. Dean headed that way, needing a shave and to brush his teeth.

"Oh, hey, Hunter," Summers said in greeting as he approached.

"Mornin'," Dean replied as he set his stuff down on the counter.

"I spoke with the professor last night and the recon mission is still on, if you're up for it?" Summers asked, craning his head to the side so he could shave under his jaw.

"What kind of recon?" Dean asked as he squeezed out his toothpaste.

"Well, it looks like word of mutants is leaking out," Summers explained. "Professor Xavier suspects there is an anti-mutant movement starting." He rinsed his razor before starting on the other side of his neck. "He wants to know what they're up to before it, and us, become public knowledge."

Dean began brushing his teeth. He used the time he couldn't speak to think it over. It didn't sound so bad, except it sounded more like infiltration than recon. He spit and rinsed.

"So how is that recon?" he asked. "It sounds more like he wants somebody undercover."

Summers shook his head. "All we're supposed to do is figure out if this is where the movement is meeting. The Professor said he has plans in place if it is."

Now that didn't sound so good. Then again, Logan trusted Xavier. He decided to casually ask the Professor about it later today after presenting their campus-wide symbol proposal. Even being a telepath wouldn't mask the man's feelings about the mission, especially if Dean phrased it the right way.

"Yeah, all right," Dean replied with a shrug, "as long as Logan's going."

"I figured you might say that," Summers said. "So, as long as I'm with you, people won't think it's weird that I'm wearing these at night? Or indoors?" He motioned to his amber colored glasses.

"Do you shower with those on?" Dean asked curiously.

"Uh, no. I keep my eyes closed while I shower, until I can put them back on," he explained.

"That sucks." Dean shrugged. "Well, we'll find out soon, won't we? When do we go?"

"I'll check with the professor, but he said yesterday that it looks like there's a meeting tomorrow night," Summers said.

"Works for me." Dean plugged in and checked the setting on his razor. Once he turned it on, the racket made conversation impossible. Summers washed the remaining shaving cream off his face and neck before gathering his stuff and leaving. Good. When Dean was done, he packed his few things away to head back to his room.

Huh. He had his very own room. Now that had not happened since the fire. After depositing his things in a drawer, Dean eyed the boring, blank walls carefully. There were a lot of possibilities here.

* * *

Xavier held the to scale drawing of the grounds with a large protection symbol drawn in. He had to admit, if it worked, it was a brilliant idea. "I can see where this symbol would be ideal considering how well it fits the campus, but are you certain it will work?"

John Winchester looked warily at Mister Singer. "Well, we could test it."

Mister Singer glared back. "We could," he said slowly. "How?"

"Any haunted houses in the area?" Dean asked. "Like really, really haunted?" He grinned like a boy asking about birthday presents.

Charles opened his mouth to protest, but John Winchester beat him to it. "We should test it against demons, not ghosts," he stated with a stern expression directed at his son.

"We are not calling a demon," Dean stated flatly, his arms crossing stubbornly over his chest. "And your demon-detector isn't working yet. Tell you what," he said, turning to Charles, "why don't you order the iron and let us lay it out. If you're willing to have it in the way, you can leave it on top of the ground for a few days and see if the kids stop dreaming about fire and a creepy dude with yellow eyes."

"Now that's a good idea," Mister Singer added. "And in the meantime, we can test out a smaller version at a haunted house, see how well it works on other supernatural things."

"Gentlemen, please," Charles protested, "if I may be allowed to finish?" He directed his attention to his newest instructor. "Hunter, do you believe this will work? Will it solve our problem?"

"Well, I don't know that it'll stop the kids from having nightmares," Dean admitted, "but it should keep anything nasty off the grounds."

"Very well." He nodded in thanks to Dean. "I shall order the materials and we will begin construction immediately. Gentlemen, thank you for your assistance, it is most appreciated. Dean? If I might speak with you privately for a moment?"

Dean had to give the older men a nod before they would leave his office. Charles waited patiently until they were alone, although the two men waited just outside the door.

"Hunter, I wanted to express my appreciation for all your efforts with this situation. If this does not solve the nightmares, is there anything else we can do?" Charles asked.

Dean threw a furtive glance at the door. "Dad's been working on it."

Charles sighed, causing Dean to give him a questioning look. "I was hoping _you_ were working on something to help us."

A puzzled expression settled on the boy's face. "Like what? We have the symbol, you've ordered the charms that will protect the kids from possession assuming they'll wear 'em, and they won't by the way, there are traps inside the mansion and protection symbols on all the doors. My dad is working on a way to kill the demon, and all I thought you could do was exorcise them. What can I do?"

"Why won't the students wear the charms?" Charles demanded, distinctly disturbed by the statement.

Dean motioned the couch. Xavier invited him to sit with a wave of his hand. The young man's hands rubbed on his jeans briefly before clasping together.

"They're kids," he said slowly. "They won't understand how important it is, or why. I mean, you can't expect kids to just..."

"Take orders?" Charles guessed. "I agree. Children must be educated, so they will take the appropriate measures on their own."

"Educated? You want Bobby or Dad to teach a class on the supernatural?" Dean asked, his face reflecting what a bad idea he thought that would be.

"No, I would prefer an instructor who has already earned the respect of our students." Charles eyed him shrewdly. "Any ideas?"

Dean frowned. "You're not talking about Logan, are you?" His dark hazel-green eyes studied Charles intently, as if he were afraid of the answer.

"I don't suppose your brother needs a larger scholarship?" Charles asked hopefully.

Dean groaned and slouched back on the sofa. "This is turning into a full-time gig."

"Well, I'm afraid I must admit, that was my goal," he informed Dean, receiving a flash of doubt across those strong facial features. "No, it is true. You are a most impressive young man. I was gratified to learn of the friendship you and Logan have developed. Logan does not make friends easily and he could use some."

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "Yeah, I've been wondering about that, if I made him like me."

"Doubtful," Charles stated confidently. "The mutant gene was nearly dormant at the time, and Logan is a most stubborn individual. Even now, with your abilities at their maximum potential, an attempt to influence a very stubborn individual, such as your father, results in an expenditure of energy which causes you to pass out. Dean, I am afraid that Logan just likes you."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste, right?" Dean chuckled with a shake of his head. "I'm glad he's going on this recon thing. What's it all about, anyway?" Now Dean watched him carefully and Charles had the impression he was being evaluated.

"I don't want to alarm the students, or most of the staff, so I would appreciate if it you would keep this to yourself," he said. A slight nod of the head was all the assurance he needed. "There is a growing anti-mutant movement, which is quite disturbing. The knowledge of mutants is not exactly common, so for an anti-mutant movement to have begun they would have to be aware of our existence. Many of our students' parents have not been exactly receptive to their children's gifts."

"Holy crap," Dean breathed, his eyes narrowing and a dangerous look growing, "you think it might be their parents?"

"It is an unfortunate possibility," Charles replied. "If you, Logan and Cyclops can confirm where this movement meets, and when, I will go in an attempt to persuade them this is utter foolishness."

Dean frowned. "Dude, you can not stand up in front of a whole group of people who have decided that they hate you and convince them they're wrong." His eyes rolled dramatically. "If most of 'em really are parents, you're going to have to use the back door."

"Back door?" Charles queried. "What back door?"

Dean motioned at his office door. "The kids. When was the last time you had a parents' day here?"

"Parents' day?" Charles stared at the young man who had been rapidly earning his respect. "What do you mean by parents' day?"

"A day when the kids' parents come to the school and see what it's all about, what the kids are learning. I know a lot of these kids are run-aways, but a lot of 'em aren't. If the parents think being a mutant is a bad thing, it's because they're worried about their kids." Those hazel-green eyes never wavered and his voice was strong and steady. "If they can see their kids are happy, healthy and learning normal stuff, they might see being a mutant isn't a bad thing."

Charles drummed his fingers against his armrest. "And perhaps if we also show them some specialty classes, such as yours, where the children learn how to at least appear to fit in, it could go a long ways to gaining their trust in our efforts. Yes, I believe I see what you mean."

Now Dean's eyes widened. "My class?" he whispered.

"Yes. Since you will be moving to full-time status anyway, I want to make Urban Camouflage available for all students," Charles explained. "Your students have been showing more confidence in their other classes, which reminds me; you still need to take them on that field trip to the mall. Friday?"

Dean simply sat there blinking slowly, confusion written all over his features. Clearly he was used to being taken for granted, no overt appreciation shown for his considerable skills.

"Dean? Is Friday all right for the field trip?" he repeated.

The young man shook off his stupor. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Friday works. The chaperons are me, Logan and Storm, right?"

"Actually, Scott Summers has asked to accompany you on this field trip, he will be taking Storm's place," Charles explained. "This will not be a problem, I trust?"

"Well, it kind of blows the dynamic of Storm's group, but I'll talk to the kids. We can make it work," Dean replied, clearly still dazed.

"Excellent. I shall keep you informed regarding the materials for the large protection symbol and the charms. Tell me, would you prefer smaller class sizes to inform the children regarding the demon, or a full assembly?" Charles asked.

Dean sighed as he stood, rubbing one hand over his head. "Well, some of the kids are kind of freaked about the symbols going up on all the doors and some of the walls. The faster we can let them know it's for their protection, the better. Maybe we should start with an assembly to let them know what's going on. Then, after the symbol is in place and they're back on regular schedule, we can break them down into classes. That's a lot of classes even without Urban Camo, I don't know if I can handle all of them by myself."

"I have every confidence in you, Hunter," Charles assured him. "However, if you feel overwhelmed, perhaps a second instructor would be a good idea. I will take it under consideration. In the meantime, I will make arrangements for the assembly. You may bring in your father and Mister Singer as experts, if you like."

"Thanks." Dean stared at the door a moment. "I'll talk to them and see what they have to say about it."

"Thank you," Charles told him. "I shall see you at the assembly, most likely this afternoon."

It was odd, but Dean's thoughts focused on Hank rather than the rather daunting tasks facing him. Charles trusted that the good doctor would be able to handle his concerns, and returned his focus to taking care of the school and, especially, the children. If only he could speed up the making of those charms. Surely there was more he could do.


	29. Chapter 29: Irritable

Sorry for the late posting! I was sick. And it was my birthday. Doc Manager was down. I could come up with a few more if that's what it takes!!

Chapter 29: **Irritable**

Dean sank into Hank's big leather armchair, ready for one of his stupid sessions for a change. "What's the topic today, Hank?"

Hank settled opposite him, balancing a notepad on his knee. "Let's start with the irritability."

Dean shrugged and scratched at his jaw, next to his ear. "I dunno. I guess when I haven't eaten in a while, Dad becomes more annoying. A lot more annoying."

"All right. That does sound like you've become more irritable. I have noticed that our sessions run much smoother if you've just eaten," Hank told him. "It's probably due to low blood sugar. You are carrying those energy bars?"

Dean pulled one out of his pocket to prove he had them.

Hank frowned. "Maybe they make a chocolate covered version. I'll check into it. It might be a good idea to carry chocolate on you as well. Try eating some chocolate if you notice the people around you are annoying. Now tell me about meeting Adam."

Relating the adventure, Dean could not help the smile which spread on his face. "He even called me yesterday to ask about girls, but that won't last."

"What won't?" Hank asked. "The questions about girls?"

"No. The phone calls," Dean replied. "See, right now I'm still new to him. After a while, Adam will realize that having an older brother is just a pain in the ass, so he'll stop calling."

Hank's furry brow furrowed. "Do you mean in general that having an older brother is not rewarding, or are you referring to yourself specifically?"

Dean frowned. He had not thought about it in detail before. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I was kind of assuming it was in general, like he was going through another phase, but maybe it is me specifically." One hand rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to relax the muscles before too much tension could build up in his shoulders.

Hank hunched forward, his eyes wide open and locked on Dean. "Who is going through a phase, Dean?"

"Sam." The name sprang unbidden from his mouth.

Hank's big furry head nodded slowly. "And who is Sam?"

Damn therapy!

He sighed in defeat. "My brother."

"Younger?" Hank asked. Dean nodded. "How much younger?"

"Four years," Dean grumbled. His little brother was not exactly his favorite topic of conversation lately. A growl of his stomach had Dean ripping into one of the energy bars.

"And when was the last time you spoke with Sam?" Hank asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and stuffed the remainder of the snack in his mouth to delay answering, hoping Hank would forget the question. Okay, so it was wishful thinking. So what? He really did not want to hear how he shouldn't think of Adam like Sam, and Hank was feeling all excited like he discovered a big clue.

"I talked to Adam yesterday," Dean repeated, hoping to divert the conversation.

"I believe I asked when the last time you spoke with Sam was," Hank pointed out as he scribbled on his pad.

He pulled another energy bar from his pocket.

"Dean." Hank removed his glasses to glare at Dean. "It is a simple question. Surely it does not require this level of avoidance. I could ask your father."

With a sigh Dean shoved the second bar back in his jacket pocket. "About a year."

Now Hank's brow furrowed again. Dean expected the usual questions to follow, like why hadn't he tried calling and crap like that.

"Can you tell me the circumstances surrounding your last conversation?" Hank asked, replacing his glasses on his face.

Yeah. Great. His least freaking favorite memory.

"I asked him if he needed a lift to school, and he said that he had bus fare and a scholarship, and to stay out of his life." Dean shrugged. "So I have."

"Those were his last words to you?" Hank asked, staring intently. Dean expected more writing on the pad, but his pen was held loosely in his hand, his focus on Dean instead of the paper. Dean swallowed hard before nodding, not trusting his voice at the moment. A flurry of emotions blasted from Hank, foremost being anger. Yeah, okay, so he could have tried calling Sam. Granted.

"Did Sam even say good-bye?" Hank asked in a deep voice while his emotions bounced between angry and amazed.

"Nah," Dean said with a wave of his hand, dismissing the whole idea.

"And what were his last words to your father?" Hank's voice was tight this time, his emotions no longer all over the place, the bouncing mass coalescing into one big emotional ball. He wondered which emotion would win out in the ball.

"Now those were loud," Dean tried to joke. Suddenly he did not feel like joking about it. "He and Dad really went at it that time." This was the first time he had even mentioned The Fight since it happened. And yeah, Hank was seriously pissed off.

"Look, I didn't mean for it to happen," Dean protested. "I tried to stop them, but it was like I wasn't even in the room. I even-"

"Dean, Dean," Hank interrupted with a smile. "Please. I don't believe you are the person I need to discuss this with. I'll take it up with your father this evening. Now, I believe we were discussing Adam."

"Who are you mad at?" Dean asked slowly. "Because I figured you were mad at me. I should've stopped it."

Hank set his pad and pen on his lap. He removed his glasses again to shove into his pocket before clasping his hands over the notepad.

"Stopping such an argument was not, and never should have been, your responsibility," Hank told him forcefully. "Normally the focus of therapy is to help the patient to gain a better understanding of himself, his family, and the people around him. In other words, the therapist should never chose sides." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, one of the calming techniques he had been cramming down Dean's throat. "I'm afraid, since I have been considering you to be more of a friend than a patient, that I am emotionally taking sides. My apologies."

"You're not mad at me," Dean said slowly as the realization sunk in. "You're mad at Dad?"

"And your brother Sam," Hank agreed. "Again, I apologize. I will attempt to better control my emotions in the future. I am afraid this whole situation caught me unawares and I was horribly unprepared for it. I will do my best to at least appear impartial in the future."

Dean could only stare at the big furry blue guy. His brain was having a real hard time wrapping itself around the idea someone liked him for no other reason than who he was and not what he could do.

"Most people tell me I should try calling Sam," Dean told him. "That Sam was mad when he said that and would talk to me if I made the first effort." He really wanted to know what Hank thought, if it would be worth the potential rejection.

Hank shook his head. "Actually, Dean, I don't think you need to hear from Sam, but I do think you need to talk to him."

Was it him, or did that not make a damn bit of sense? "What?"

"You have unresolved issues with your younger brother," Hank told him. "These issues make you feel like less of a person, unvalued. You have similar issues with your father, but he is here and willing to work with you on those, which should tell you how important you are to him."

"Only because I made him think-" Dean started to protest when Hank raised a hand to stop him.

"You are important to him," Hank repeated. "I would be willing to bet if I called this brother Sam right now and told him you were seriously injured, he would come here on the next flight. Would you agree?"

Well, maybe. Okay, probably. Dean shrugged with a reluctant nod.

"I believe I have a reasonable solution for you," Hank declared. "I want you to write a letter to Sam. You may tell him however much or little you want, because you do not have to mail it. This will give you an outlet to tell your brother exactly what you think and feel without having to worry about a response."

"Wait. By writing to him, I can tell Sam whatever I want, and he can't talk back." This had serious possibilities. "I think I like that."

Hank smiled before reaching down for his notepad. "Good. That will be your homework. Now let's finish our discussion about Adam. He sounds like he was very excited to meet his older brother. Are you planning to see him again?"

"Uh, well, I kind of figured that was up to Adam," Dean explained.

Hank frowned again and tugged at the long blue tuft near his ear. "No, I don't think so. Considering Adam's excitement over your initial meeting and the fact he is calling for your advice, I would have to say whether or not this relationship grows is entirely up to you."

"Up to me," Dean muttered to himself. He was not sure he believed it.

They spent more time talking about meeting Adam and how Dean managed not to force anything on the kid or his mother. As much as he hated to admit it, the techniques Hank had been pushing on him had worked. Of course, Dad being there had helped a lot too.

"Perhaps next time you should go without your father," Hank suggested at the end of their session. "Not alone, I would rather someone who understands what can happen if you don't eat regularly accompanies you, but that is as your doctor and not your therapist."

"Maybe," Dean hedged. "There's a lot going on right now. Here. I don't know when I'll be able to go."

"Yes, an excellent point. And I, for one, appreciate the fact you are here," Hank replied. "Professor Xavier mentioned to me this morning that he wants your class to be required for all students, as well as a second course in mythologies. He expressed concerns you might feel a bit overwhelmed."

He felt a lot like the first time he had been called into a principal's office for ending a fight. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, I don't know about overwhelmed. I just think Xavier is expecting too much of me. He ought to hire a real professor for the myths and legends class. I'm sure I'll screw it up."

Hank frowned again. "Dean, I agree with the Professor's assessment. I can think of no better instructor. Even without using your mutant abilities, you have the students hanging on your every word. Considering the dire seriousness of our situation, I personally prefer having an instructor with your capabilities teaching such a course. At least the children will take it seriously."

Despite the fact Hank appeared, and felt, dead serious about it, Dean rolled his eyes. "But if I screw it up, it'll affect all of them. It could put all the kids in danger, not just me."

Hank nodded seriously at him. "Then don't screw it up."

"Thanks," Dean replied sarcastically. "That really helps a lot."

Hank checked his watch. "We are almost out of time, but I have heard a curious rumor. May I ask?"

"Sure." Like he had any freaking secrets left. "What is it?"

"Do you play poker?" Hank asked.

"Some," Dean replied, keeping his game face on. "Why? Interested in a game?"

"Tonight after dinner?" Hank suggested. "There may be one or two others who would like to join us."

"Sure. Sounds like fun," Dean told him. Lots of fun. He hoped Summers would be one of those other people, he would love to take the guy down a peg or two.

* * *

Dean checked his watch after his class. It was four. Would Adam be home from school yet? Well, hell, it was worth a shot. He called the Milligan house while he looked for a shady place to sit.

"Hello?" a boy's voice answered the phone.

"Adam?" he asked. "It's Dean."

"Dean!" Adam gushed. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Uh, well, I was kind of wondering about your date," Dean replied, hoping his excuse was good enough.

"Friday night," Adam stated confidently. "We're going to the movies. All of your suggestions worked perfectly. Hey, want me to call you afterwards so I can tell you how it went?"

"Yeah, sure." Dean smiled at the thought. He dropped down to sit under a huge oak tree. "How's school going?"

Adam went on and on about school, his teachers and classes, and his friends. "So how is your new job? Do you still like it there? Because if you don't, I think there's an opening in my school."

Now that was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him. "Actually, it's going pretty well. It started as part-time, but now they want me full-time and teaching a second course."

"Really? What?" Adam asked.

"Myths and Legends," Dean told him truthfully.

"Now that sounds cool," Adam replied. "Did you go to school for that?"

"Not exactly," Dean said. "Dad taught me most of it, but I've learned a lot on my own."

"Were you home-schooled?" Adam asked.

Dean had to laugh at the question, but in some ways it was accurate. "Not exactly, just certain subjects."

"You told Mom there was a school crisis. What happened?" Adam wanted to know.

Ah, crap. He didn't want to lie. Dean even hated lying to people about the things that go bump in the night. After all, people can't protect themselves if they don't know what's out there.

"I don't think it's something I should talk about," Dean said slowly, "but we're handling it. You know, speaking of myths and legends, I know some protection symbols that would look awesome on the walls of your room. Interested?"

"Oh, that sounds wicked," Adam breathed. "Do you think my mom would flip out?"

"Ask her," Dean suggested. His mind churned through possibilities of putting some kind of protection on their front door. Maybe if he could come up with a good disguise, like a year-round wreath, Kate would keep it up.

"Does this mean you're coming back soon?" Adam demanded.

"There's still a lot to do here, but if we finish up in the next couple of weeks, maybe I could..."

"Yes!" he shouted through the phone. "Oh, and you can stay with us next time, don't worry about a hotel room. Mom says teachers don't make that much, so if we expect to see more of you you'll need to stay here."

"Your mom said that?" Dean asked slowly, unsure if he heard it correctly.

"Yeah. And if your back is bothering you again, you can have my bed. I'll sleep on the floor or the couch," Adam explained. "Mom said the lousy hotel mattresses probably aren't good for your back anyway."

"You, uh, you've been talking about me? With your mom?" Why would they have been talking about him?

"Yeah," Adam sighed. "Mom's afraid I'm expecting too much, because you're so much older than I am. She says that you're grown and have your own life and I should be happy with whatever time you have for me."

"You're expecting too much," Dean repeated, his mind in a whirl. A pair of rough denim clad legs appeared in front of him. Dean followed them up with his eyes to find Bobby watching him. "And what do you expect?"

"Well, uh, just, you know, stuff. Brother-kind of stuff," Adam said.

"Like?" Dean prompted, wondering what he had managed to get himself into.

"Okay, in a couple of years I'll be old enough for my learner's permit, right? So I was kind of hoping you'd, you know, teach me to drive. Stuff like that," Adam said.

"That sounds all right to me," Dean replied as he started to feel some excitement about teaching someone else to drive, the way he had taught Sam. "And if I hear of any good concerts, do you think you'd be up for it?"

"You bet!" Adam said enthusiastically. "So? Are you going to come see me in a couple of weeks? Can I tell my mom?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his resolve setting. "Sure. As soon as we have this thing at the school under control, I'll head your way for the weekend. Is it all right if I bring a friend along, to help drive?"

"Well, yeah, I guess," Adam said slowly, without his usual enthusiasm.

"Why? What's wrong?" Dean asked while Bobby gave him the strangest look. He held up a hand for Bobby to pull him to his feet. Bobby's grip was tight and firm but he felt distinctly unhappy.

"Oh, well, I was kind of hoping to have you all to myself," Adam mumbled.

Dean chuckled. This kid was really doing wonders for his ego. "It's just for the drive," he assured Adam. "Don't worry about it. You're still planning on calling me Friday night?"

"Sure, Dean," Adam said. "You bet. Talk to ya soon!"

"Bye." Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket. "What's with you?" he asked Bobby.

"Who were you just talkin' to?" Bobby demanded.

"Adam," Dean replied. Bobby continued to stare. "You do know about Adam, right? Dad's other son?"

Bobby's cheeks flushed bright red underneath the graying whiskers and his eyes darted across the yard. The quick anger Bobby was prone to when it came to Dad lately surrounded them.

"Forget it," Dean admonished. "Dad's out overseeing a shipment arriving for the school. So he didn't tell you?"

"Nope," Bobby spat. "His _other_ son?"

"Yeah, he's about ten years younger than I am," Dean replied. "Dad says he didn't know until after Sam went to college."

"Did he?" Bobby demanded, hand on his hips and appearing like he could rip Dad limb from limb.

"No," Dean said confidently. "I knew he'd been hiding something from me for close to a year, turns out Adam was it."

"You're not mad?" Bobby asked, still angry but the red was gradually fading to his natural color.

"I gave him a one-time deal," Dean told his staunchest and longest-standing friend. "I was tired of being mad at Dad all the time, so I told him that he needed to come clean and get it over with so we could start with a fresh slate. He told me about Adam, and about letting Sam pick that fight with him."

A fresh surge of anger swept over Bobby, but on the outside he appeared calm. "Is that right? Came clean, did he?"

Dean rolled his eyes and gave Bobby a gentle shove in the shoulder. "We're good, Bobby. Honest. Relax. And people wonder why I'm more irritable now? Sheesh!"

"What?" Bobby demanded, falling in step beside him as he headed for the mansion. "What'd I do?"

"Dude, you're leaking totally pissed off all over the place," Dean told him. "Keep this up and I won't invite you to Hank's poker game tonight."

Some pleased emotions slipped in past the anger. "Yeah? Hank plays poker? Oh, that ought to be good."

"Right?" Dean grinned. "What have you been up to this afternoon? Any good?"

Bobby harrumphed loudly. "Well, I had ta pester that Professor guy about my case files, and he finally agreed to look 'em over before I leave. Then we talked about how to install the symbol on the grounds. You know, if he really has people who can do everything he claims they can, I think we can have this thing done in a week or less."

"No kidding?" Dean was impressed. "A week? I figured it would take at least two."

"With regular construction equipment, at least two weeks," Bobby agreed. "He's planning on you playing foreman, by the way, since it's your idea."

"Why not you or Dad?" Dean demanded. "You'd be better at it."

Bobby shot him a strong glare. "It's _your_ idea."

Dean groaned. "One of these days I'll learn when to keep my mouth shut."

"Better not," Bobby snapped at him with a sharp slap to the shoulder. "I don't want ta miss out on any of these good ideas."

"Dean!" Logan jogged across the grass toward them before they could reach the back steps of the mansion. They stopped to wait. "Been lookin' for ya," he breathed as he ran up. "The school assembly will be in the cafeteria. The Professor wanted ta be sure there'd be enough time for questions before we eat, so ya got an hour ta prepare."

"You mean it starts in an hour?" Dean asked. "Holy crap, I don't know if Dad'll be back by then." He turned to his old friend. "Bobby? You'll help me out, right?"

"Of course I will, boy," Bobby replied in a strong voice. "Oh, did anybody tell you that the silver charms are here? That's why I was looking for you."

"Good. We can give them out after the assembly," Dean decided. "Hopefully it'll be enough to convince them to wear 'em."

"Do ya really think all the kids'll wear 'em?" Logan asked.

Dean rolled his eyes at Logan. The guy worked with kids all the time, he should know better than that.


	30. Chapter 30: Charmed

Chapter 30: **Charmed**

Teen and pre-teen voices echoed loudly off the white cafeteria walls. Scott Summers stood on top of the teacher's table to clap his hand and try to bring some order to the chaos.

"Attention!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Attention!"

When the cacophony of noise settled to a low roar, Summers cleared his throat before addressing the students. "The reason for this assembly is to inform you about a situation here at the Institute. This situation affects every student here."

The background murmurs quieted until the room was silent save for Summers pacing back and forth on the table.

"I expect you all to pay attention and listen carefully. Anyone who attempts to disrupt this assembly will find themselves in detention, no exceptions." He glared across the room through his colored shades. "Our school is facing a very serious situation, once which most people don't believe could actually happen. Then again, most people don't believe mutants are real, either.

"Our newest instructor happens to be an expert in this field, and he is going to explain what is happening and why we've covered the school with strange symbols and salt." Summers jumped down off the table and swept a hand out, inviting Dean to take over. "Hunter," he announced loudly.

Dean cleared his throat nervously before standing. These guys liked being dramatic, huh? He could do dramatic. Starting flat-footed, Dean jumped straight up to land on the top of the table. It made a racket when he hit, the table shuddering and shaking with the impact. Between the noise and his stunt he was guaranteed to have their undivided attention.

"Professor Xavier calls me Hunter," he began loudly, straightening up, "same as many of you. But it's not my name." He paused, his mind racing for the right way to convince them how real it was. "How many of you have told scary stories at sleep-overs about ghosts and un-dead killers with hooks for hands? Raise your hands."

Dean held up a hand as an undercurrent of disbelief swept through the room while most of the kids lifted a hand in the air. "And I'll bet, at least for one moment, that you scared the crap out of yourself with one of those stories. Right? Am I right? Isn't that part of the fun?"

A murmur of agreement rose from the kids as their hands lowered.

"When I was four years old..." His voice cracked. Dean tried to ignore his normal feelings of unimaginable loss as he cleared his throat. "When I was four, a demon came inside my house." He opened his eyes to scan the crowd, his glare daring anyone to dispute the facts. "It killed my mom," he said in a softer voice. Then he continued, his voice strengthening in tone and volume, "It pinned her body to the ceiling, and that's where the fire started. I lost my mother and my home. Just like that." He snapped his fingers. "So much for **fun**." Dean let his voice ring out over the crowded room. Dead silence followed until he spoke again.

"My dad has been hunting the thing that killed my mom since I was four. I was raised to hunt supernatural creatures like spirits and witches, werewolves and wendigos, and I'm good at it. That's why you call me Hunter." He stared out at the sea of young faces, some slack with the beginnings of understanding. At least there were no strong feelings against him, he had that going for him. Maybe he was convincing some of them. The something-is-out-there speech was difficult enough one-on-one, to a whole crowd it was damn near impossible.

"The demon that killed my mom likes fire." Dean paused dramatically. "Does that sound familiar to anyone here? Fire? How many of you have had dreams of fire? Surrounded by fire, but it never seems to touch you. How many? I want to see your hands." No one raised a hand. Damn it. "A lot of you have told Professor Xavier and Logan about your dreams of fire, there's no need to be shy about it now. Come on, how many of you have dreams of fire?"

Slowly Kitty and Bobby, sitting off to one side, raised their hands. Almost immediately the rest of their table put hands into the air as well. It was a ripple effect, the show of hands spreading quickly through the youths. Not a single kid was left without a hand in the air. Holy crap. Hearing about it and seeing it were two different things.

"My dad and I think your dreams come from a demon," Dean continued in a strong voice, mentally trying to imitate his father's command tone. "And not just any demon. The demon who killed my mother." He paused just long enough to wrestle his emotions back under control. "This is personal for me," Dean explained tensely. "I'm not losing anyone else to this thing. That's why I have a few things to tell you.

"There are some basic facts about demons you need to know. First, they can possess humans. There usually has to be a weakness for a demon to possess you, like you're real upset or scared, or anything that would throw you off-balance. Typically a demon requires a weakness to exploit to possess you.

"If you suspect someone else is possessed, there is a test. There is a word you can say which will make the demon flinch, show itself temporarily." He still had their complete attention. There was no longer the undercurrent of disbelief. They couldn't all believe him, it just wasn't possible, but at least he had their attention. "The word is christo. Now everyone say it. Christo."

He motioned with one hand and a chorus of voices chanted, "Christo."

"Good. I'm sure you've been wondering about the salt. Salt is pure, so an unbroken line of it can not be crossed by anything nasty, like a demon. It will keep out spirits too, and pretty much anything without a solid body. The symbols we've been putting all over campus, especially on doors, are protection symbols. They're designed to keep out all kinds of supernatural creatures. Now the symbols on the floors inside, those will trap a demon. A demon can walk into it, but not out. If you ever see anyone who looks trapped inside one of those symbols, find me, my dad or Bobby." Dean motioned to his loyal friend. Bobby nodded seriously at the kids. "This is what we do. I don't want any of you to get hurt, so don't try anything yourself, just find one of us.

"There is one more thing you can do to protect yourselves. It's easy and it works." He motioned for Bobby to reveal the large cardboard box. Bobby placed it on the table next to Dean's feet. "Inside this box are silver charms. Silver is also pure, so the bad things don't like it. These charms will protect the wearer from being possessed. Each one of you will receive one, including the teachers. Wearing it is up to you. I recommend it. As in, anyone I catch not wearing one will be running laps until you pass out.

"Now, the last thing is about the construction. We will be installing a large, very powerful symbol that should be able to protect the entire campus. It will be made of iron, another one of those pure elements. When it is complete, the Xavier Institute will be one of the safest places from supernatural creatures in the world," Dean promised. He hoped it would live up to his promise. "I'm hoping it will be enough to stop the dreams of fire. But if it doesn't, we'll keep at it until we figure out how to stop it, one way or another."

Dean couldn't quite read the feelings in the room, which was odd. He should have been picking up disbelief, maybe some anger, even fear. Instead he was feeling a general lack of strong emotions.

"Any questions?" he asked in the same command voice.

Bobby Drake raised his hand tentatively. Dean nodded to him. Bobby stood with nervous looks at the students surrounding him. "Uh, you mean, if I wear one of those charms, I don't have to worry about demons?"

"You don't have to worry about being possessed by a demon," Dean clarified. "It doesn't mean one can't hurt you. Like I said, if you think there's a demon around, you find me. I'll take care of it."

"How?" Kitty asked as Bobby sat.

"Hunter?" Summers stood up in front of him, on the floor. "May I interrupt for a moment?"

Dean nodded to him, conceding the floor.

"Hunter will be teaching a new class, Myths and Legends. It will be required for all students. His popular Urban Camouflage course will also be extended for all interested students," Summers announced. "New course schedules, which will go into effect as soon as the construction is complete, will be available in a few days." He nodded to Dean. "I don't want to get caught up in a bunch of explanations that will be covered in class anyway. Please continue."

Dean cleared his throat, a little nervous over the deference he was being paid. "Kitty asked how I would take care of a demon. I'd exorcise it, send it back to Hell. Any other questions?"

Several hands shot into the air. Dean picked one and a boy he did not know stood up. "Sir, is there more salt? I didn't know what it was for, so I swept it out of my room."

Dean glanced back at Xavier, who nodded. Good. The supply of salt must have arrived too. "Sure, no problem. After dinner, anyone who needs their room resalted, line up against that wall." Dean pointed out one wall of the cafeteria without tables pressed up against it. "We'll have someone go with you to your rooms and show you how to lay out the salt. After the large symbol has been installed, the salt shouldn't be necessary any more."

More hands shot up in the air. Dean picked one of the new questions. "What about when I go home for a visit?" a girl with dark hair and large eyes asked. "Should I salt my bedroom there?"

"Yes," Dean replied quickly. "Are you planning to go home soon? Wait a minute." He held up a hand to hold her off for a moment as he turned to talk to Summers, since he was the headmaster.

"Dude, can we group the kids who leave campus to visit their families into the same classes?" Dean asked.

Summers nodded. "If you need the classes organized that way, that's fine. We'll take care of it."

Dean turned back to the girl. "We'll go over in class what you can do when you're at home, but wearing one of these charms will be even more important there. Next question."

Dean answered quite a few more questions before Xavier announced it was past time for dinner, then he promised some informal meetings with Dean in the rec room in the evenings while the campus was under construction. No, no need to ask him about it or anything. Frigging typical.

That meal was the quietest Dean had experienced here. The kids were talking but the conversations were hushed and serious, not the usual light banter. Even the instructors were unusually quiet. If he didn't think it would make him pass out for a couple of days, Dean would give his shoulders a huge shake and lighten the mood in here. As it was, directly between his shoulderblades hurt and burned like a son-of-a-bitch. He was tempted do it anyway, at least for the teachers' table, but then a heavy hand pressed against his upper back and rubbed in soothing circles while warm gooey emotions assaulted him.

"Dad?" Dean glanced over his shoulder. "When'd you get back?"

"A few minutes ago," Dad said in his deep voice, still rubbing Dean's back. "I ran into Xavier outside. Full-time now, huh? Need any help with the new lesson plans? Bobby and I are available."

"Yeah. I might," Dean admitted, relieved by the offer and Dad not chewing him out for agreeing to the full-time status. The kids here needed him, a lot more than Dad could.

* * *

Sam's attention drifted from his Calculus book to the computer print-outs stacked on his desk. He reached for the pages to flip through them again. Odd activity at the Xavier Institute had made the local paper and several blogs. The place was covered with very powerful protection symbols. Some of the locals thought it had turned into some type of cult, but it looked to Sam more like someone was very, very worried.

He pushed the print-outs aside. He did not do that kind of thing any more. Besides, it was on the other side of the country. Obviously someone was looking into it. His eyes tracked back to the papers. Odds were it was one of their teachers, who lucked out on picking the right symbols. Well, Bobby ought to be able to drop by and check things out. But if he called, Sam was guaranteed a chewing-out for not talking to Dean. Mailing a letter sounded safer.

Damn it. Sam didn't even own any envelopes. Time for a quick store run. He walked through his sparsely furnished apartment to the front door. Since the Xavier Institute had been kind enough to grant him a generous scholarship, the least he could do was clue in a real hunter that there seemed to be a problem.

* * *

Dean peered over his cards at the other people seated around the table. Gambit felt unbelievably confident, Hank had no hope of winning a hand, Summers tapped a finger nervously against his cards feeling out of his element, Bobby stood off to the side with Logan and both of them were enjoying themselves a little too much, and Dad's emotions were impossible to read. He must've been practicing.

It was a quarter ante and maximum bet of five dollars. Dean tossed a couple of ones in the pot. "Two bucks."

Dad snorted loudly from his side. He glared at Dean for a long moment, his emotions still on lock-down, before adding two ones. "Call."

"Bet's to you," Dean told Summers.

"Yeah, I know." Summers sighed as he slapped his cards down on the table. "Fold. You know, I swore I'd never play another game with Gambit. I don't know what I'm doing here."

"This is merely a friendly game," Hank admonished. "There is no reason to feel uncomfortable." He scrutinized his cards. "I believe the correct term is male bonding."

Summers grunted while Logan and Bobby exchanged whispers before chuckling conspiratorially. Summers turned around to look at them. "Logan, why aren't you playing?"

Logan snorted disdainfully. "Bub, I ain't stupid enough to play at the same table as Gambit and Hunter."

"Dat right, cher?" Gambit asked smoothly. "You don mean to be thinkin' we're in da same class?"

Dean blinked innocently at Gambit, trying to make himself appear the easiest mark ever. Dad snorted again and rolled his eyes. Dean reached out with one foot to gently kick Dad in the shin, he was going to give it all away.

"Hunter?" Hank asked. "I don't suppose you've had time to work on that letter?"

Dean shook his head as he gathered his cards into his hand. "Not yet. Delaying tactic, Hank?" he teased. "Bet's to you, dude."

Hank tugged on one ear. Dean was pretty sure it was his tell. He added three dollars to the pot. "Call and raise."

Gambit nodded his head and threw in his three dollars. "Call ya der, cher. And I thin' I'm gonna raise ya another dolla'." He made a production of waving a fourth bill in the air before dropping it on the pile in the center of the table. "Hunter?"

"Call." Dean tossed in two more dollars.

He looked to Dad. Dad shook his head. "Too rich for my blood. Fold. How about you, Hank?"

Hank tugged on that ear again before adding another dollar. "I will call as well."

"Cards?" Gambit demanded, placing his hand aside in favor of the deck.

This was a trial run, Dean had no intention of winning this hand. He took his two best cards and tossed them out. He held up two fingers. Gambit dealt him two. Dad was out and so was Summers. Hank pulled on his ear before asking for one card.

"An' da dealer don' need none," Gambit announced, setting the desk aside.

Oh, really? He was standing pat? Dean checked his two new cards. He still had one pair. All right, time to see if he had any of these folks figured out. He shifted nervously, like he had tried to draw to an inside straight and failed.

He cleared his throat. "Um, one."

"One?" Gambit demanded. "But ya started tha bet wid two last time, cher. I think I'm gonna haveta teach ya how ta play dis game."

Dean ducked his head and shrugged, acting embarrassed. He heard Logan sniggering from the opposite wall, behind Summers. Bobby whispered to Logan again and they both broke up in barely contained laughter. Then he noticed the feelings of friendship coming from Bobby and a sense of being completely at ease. Maybe Bobby figured out it wasn't Logan's father he had served with.

Hank glanced nervously between him and Gambit. Finally he sighed and laid his cards face-down on the table. "I fold."

Yes! He had Hank's tell. Now it was down to him and Gambit. Dean turned wide-eyes on the mutant gambler. The innocent player ought to work for a few hands.

"Let's make this more in'eresting, cher," Gambit announced. He snapped a five dollar bill with both hands. "Five."

Dean widened his eyes. Pat hand and maximum bet? Dude probably had nothin' and was trying to bluff him. Well, the only way to know for sure was to call and lose his money. He should be able to make it up in a few hands.

"Call." Dean laid down his cards. "Pair of Jacks."

Gambit snorted derisively. "Full house heah, cher. Now I know I got ta teach ya."

Dean shrugged. He made the minimum bets the next few hands, folding before he bet any real money. He also made damn sure he tugged at his collar each time he checked his cards, giving Gambit a fake tell to pick up. He definitely had Summers' and Hank's tells now. Summers tapped one finger against the sides of his cards and Hank pulled on the tuft of fur in front of his right ear. Gambit was more difficult. The dude was almost impossible to read, except emotionally. Dean was pretty sure the guy was more excited when he bluffed, like he enjoyed playing the people as much as the game.

Dean felt ready now. It was Dad's deal.

"Pair to open," Dad announced as he dealt the cards. "Ante up, people. Come on, Dean. Your luck is bound to change soon, son."

Dean suppressed his grin at Dad's obvious hustling-style platitude. He picked up his new hand. "It just doesn't seem to be my night, Dad."

He glanced over at Bobby and Logan lounging against the wall. They exchanged knowing looks, which Dean pretended not to notice.

He had a pair of tens. It would do.

"Summers? Can you open?" Dad asked.

"One dollar," he announced. Dean resisted rolling his eyes. Summers never opened for more than the minimum bet. Dude was too cautious.

"Call," Hank said slowly, adding his dollar.

"Now, cher, that just won' do," Gambit said cheerfully. "Dis hand needs a lil' excitement. So I'll be raisin' the bet to four."

Dean made a point of not tugging on his collar this time, even though all he had was a pair of tens. "Call and raise to five." He added a five to the pot.

Dad gave them a nod as he tossed in his five. He turned to watch Summers. Summers studied Dean and Gambit carefully. "Since I haven't come close to winning a hand yet, I fold." He nodded to Hank. "You should, too, Hank."

Hank shook his head. "I believe you're right." He laid down his cards as well.

"Call," Gambit replied, adding the extra dollar.

"Cards?" Dad asked.

"Two." Gambit tossed his discards in the middle of the table. Dad dealt him two more cards.

"Dean?"

Dean shook his head, tapping his cards against the table. "Nah, I'm good."

"Dealer takes two," Dad announced as he discarded and dealt himself two more cards. "Bet is to Gambit."

"Two," Gambit announced with a wary glance his way and Dean grinned. This might only work once.

"Raise you to five," Dean said swiftly, adding another five dollar bill.

Dad snorted and shook his head before tossing his hand down. He could always count on Dad to back him up hustling.

Gambits' eyes narrowed on him. "Cher, I's pretty sure it ain't worth the t'ree dollars ta see dat hand. Fold."

Dean grinned as he scooped up his first winnings of the evening. With any luck, it wouldn't be his last. The deal was his now. On his first shuffle, he sprayed the cards across the table. Acting horribly embarrassed, Dean gathered them up hurriedly.

Dad patted him kindly on the shoulder. "Deep breath, son. Take it easy. Try it again like we practiced."

A glance across the room showed Dean Logan had his face covered with one hand. Bobby whispered in Logan's ear. He wondered if they would tell him afterwards what was so frigging funny earlier.

Dean gave his Dad a nod before fumbling through a two-handed shuffle. Then he resorted to simply pulling short stacks of the cards out and forcing them back into the deck in new places, the kind of shuffling he hadn't done for real since he was six. Dean dealt out the cards without further incident, although he did toss Gambit's too close to the edge, hoping the experienced player would make the amateur mistake of flipping the far edge up where he could catch a look at the card. Gambit didn't. The guy really was good.

Dad cleared his throat and nodded at the table. The others were tossing in their dollar ante. Dean added his. Dad cleared his throat again.

"Oh, right. Uh, pair to open," he said, parroting what Dad had said at the opening of the last hand.

Dad sighed and shook his head. "Pass. Summers, can you open?"

"Pass. Hank?"

Hank studied his cards hard. "One dollar," he finally announced, adding a bill to the center of the table.

"Call and raise," Gambit said confidently. "Dat bet's to you, Dean. T'ree dollars."

This time he was starting with two pair. Oh, yes! Dean tugged nervously at his collar as he looked anxiously between the pot and his hand.

"Uh, c-call." He added his three dollars. Dad and Summers tossed in three as well to stay in. "Cards?"

Dad took two, Summers three so he had a couple of face cards, Hank two, and Gambit two. Dean took one.

"Just the one, cher?" Gambit teased. "I got a feelin' you needs more than dat."

Dean smiled weakly and shrugged as he checked his new hand. He now had one pair of tens and three Jacks. Full house. Oh, this was turning into a good day. He tugged on his collar again. Hard. Gambit grinned.

"I'll bet two dollars," Dad said with a wink at Dean.

Summers tossed his cards down. "Fold."

Hank sighed heavily. "I fold as well."

Gambit grinned. "I call two an' ah raise you one, cher."

Dean pretended to nervously check his cards again. With another tug at his collar, he picked up three dollars. "Call and, uh, raise." He added two more ones. "Maximum bet."

"You know," Dad said, "I'm a little tired of this limit on betting. How about a real hand? Twenty bucks?"

"Twenty?" Dean squeaked.

Gambit grinned broadly. "You don' haveta stay in cher. This c'n be a man's hand. Forty?" His eyes were pinned on Dad.

Dean figured he was the type to go there. His hand dove into his pocket for his wallet. "I have forty," he snapped angrily. He removed two twenties from his wallet. Then he pulled out two more and tossed them on top. "Why not eighty, as long as we're breaking rules?"

"Uh, Dean?" Summers' eyes darted between him and Gambit. "This is supposed to be a friendly game."

"Dean, isn't that a bit expensive?" Hank protested. "I think this is getting out of hand."

"Too rich for me," Dad said, backing out and leaving it wide open for Dean and Gambit to go head to head.

"Not outta hand," Gambit protested, four twenties appearing from deep inside his long coat. "I think this youngun needs a lil' lesson in gamblin', is all." He laid the money down on the table. "Ya can't force somebody ta fold." Gambit turned his cards over. Two pair, Kings and Queens.

"Nice hand," Dean replied evenly as he flipped over his cards. Calmly he met Gambit's gaze. "Full house." He grinned as Gambit's cheeks flushed pink.

"You-you cheated!" Gambit shouted. "You done cheated."

Dean turned calmly to face his father. "Did I cheat, Dad? I mean, we hustled him, sure. But I didn't cheat."

"Fair and square, son," Dad replied proudly. "But you should probably give him his money back. I didn't think you'd push it to eighty bucks."

Dean laughed at Gambit's red face. "Dude, you had it coming, dismissing me like that. A man's game?" he imitated Gambit's accent.

Some of the color drained from Gambit's face. "Dat wasn't real friendly, was it?"

Dean held out the eighty, fulling intending to keep the rest of the money.

"No, cher," Gambit replied, taking sixty. "It's only fair. That's what you was aiming for, right?" He nodded at Dean's neck. "Your tell? Dat was fake?"

Dad laughed loud, the whole room full of the sound. "Dean doesn't have a tell. Trust me, I'd know."

Dean leaned over conspiratorially to Gambit. "I used to have to do twenty push-ups any time I gave a real tell."

Gambit's eyes widened. "How abou' a real hand? You an' me?"

Dean grinned as he picked up the cards. He shuffled cleanly and effortlessly this time. "What do you want to play? But I have to warn you, I'm much better at hustling poker than I am in a straight game."

Summers' head dropped low. "Now he tells me," he muttered.

Logan leaned over Summers' shoulder. "I told ya. But did ya listen ta me?"

Summers groaned, shaking his head. Despite himself, Dean found he was starting to like the guy.


	31. Chapter 31: Letters

Chapter 31: **Letters**

Sam's hand shook as he held the letter to Bobby over the mail slot. He needed to do this, people's lives were in danger. But even mailing a simple letter could connect him back to his old life, and he did not want that. Life here in college was so much simpler. All he worried about were his classes, homework, and how to ask Jessica out again. It was a great life.

What if Bobby called him? What if Dean did? Oh, man, he couldn't turn down a call from Dean. Unless it was about something stupid. Knowing Dean, his brother would want to drop by to meet college chicks. Also, that would open the door for Dad.

Sam pulled his hand, and the letter, away from the drop slot. Being on speaking terms with Dean was the same as inviting Dad to come see him, bully him about quitting school and hunting. No. This was a bad idea.

He turned around, his back to the out-going mail, and he hesitated again. People could die. Sam had no way of knowing, for sure, that a real hunter was handling the situation at the Xavier Institute. Anyone could luck out by stumbling onto a powerful protection symbol like the one on the front door of the Institute. If he mailed the letter, Bobby would look into it and he wouldn't have to worry. Besides, they granted him a really nice scholarship. Without it, he would still be sharing a dorm-room with three guys. Sam wouldn't have thought it possible, but living with three guys he had never met before was far more annoying than living in one room with his dad and brother. He wasn't sure why it was so aggravating, but it was. Having his own apartment had saved his sanity.

Before he could change his mind again, Sam whipped around and thrust the envelope through the mail slot. There. It was done. Whatever the consequences were, so be it.

Feeling better than he had in a while, Sam headed for home. Then again, maybe he should drop by the coffee shop Jessica liked to frequent. She might be there.

* * *

Dean stared at the blank paper on his desk. Write a letter to Sam. At first it had sounded like a good idea, being able to talk to Sam without his brother being able to talk back. But now, faced with actually doing it, Dean had no idea what he wanted to say.

There was a light knock on his door. Relieved by the distraction, Dean rushed from his desk to the door. He opened it to find that cute librarian, Libby, standing in the hall. Beside her was one of the kids. Her dark blond hair, which was usually pulled back into a tight knot, was down and loose and gently framed her face. Dean almost didn't recognize her. Her bright eyes locked on to him and he could sense anxiety from both her and the kid.

"Libby?" Dean asked, unsure if it really was her. In the loose pajamas bottoms, clingy nightshirt and hastily pulled on robe, she appeared far prettier than she did during the day. Stunning might be a better word.

"Excuse me, Hunter. I don't mean to disturb you so late, but this young man is, well, a little panicked," Libby explained, pulling the kid forward and patting him on the shoulder. "This is Ben. He woke me up a little while ago to tell me that he had a dream about a man with yellow eyes?"

Ben was young, maybe twelve, thin with messy dark red hair and freckles covering his face. He wore wrinkled light blue pajamas and his feet were bare, clearly coming straight from bed.

"Now he's afraid to go to sleep," Libby continued in a soft voice.

Dean held out a hand, deciding to treat the kid like an adult. "Nice to meet you, Ben."

Ben glanced up shyly before placing his hand in Dean's. Dean grasped the smaller hand firmly and shook it with confidence. "Yellow eyes, huh? And this guy is probably telling you to do things you wouldn't normally want to do, right?"

Ben nodded, fear welling up and out of the poor kid. Dean released the kid's hand to scratch his cheek.

"Well," he said slowly, "maybe we can test the symbol we're using for the whole school. I can paint it on Ben's floor, so his bed will be right over it, and we'll see if it keeps the dreams out."

Libby frowned at him. "I thought it had to be made of iron?"

Dean shook his head. "The symbol alone ought to work. The iron makes it a double-whammy. If the symbol alone isn't enough to keep out whatever-it-is then the iron ought to."

Relief surged up in the kid. "We can do that?" he asked. "Really?"

Dean nodded. "I'm sure there's a few cans of spraypaint leftover from putting the symbols all over the school. Wait here while I ask my dad and Bobby."

Dean pressed by them to cross the hall and knock on Dad's door. He had to knock a few times before Dad, looking and feeling rather irritable, opened it.

"Now what?" Dad snapped as the door opened. When he saw Dean, his eyes widened and he instantly felt guilty and panicked, though Dean couldn't imagine what would panic Dad. Dean glanced over his shoulder to make sure there wasn't anything in the hall. Then all of Dad's emotions went on lock-down again. Yeah, he had been seriously practicing.

"I was wondering where the leftover spraypaint is," Dean told him.

Dad cleared his throat. "Why? What do you need it for?" This time he sounded downright polite.

Dean waved at the boy standing across the hall, hiding partially behind Libby. "He's afraid to go to sleep, because he's been dreaming of a man with yellow eyes. I thought a good test of the symbol would be to paint it on the floor of his room and see if the dreams stopped."

Bobby appeared behind Dad. "Now that is a good idea. John, if you'll move your stubborn ass out of my way, I'll go find the paint."

Dad stepped out of Bobby's way. "Bring enough for all three of us," he ordered as Bobby headed down the hall.

Dad sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "He's still mad at me."

"Yeah, I noticed," Dean replied as Bobby hit the stairs and dropped out of sight. "What did you do?"

Dad looked him in the eye. "Turned you into a mutant." He swept a hand out, encompassing their surroundings. "This is all my fault, you know."

Dean frowned. "I'll talk to him," he promised.

Dad shook his head. "Don't bother, son. I can handle it. Say, did you notice him hanging around Logan all evening? What the hell was that all about? I mean, I know he served with Logan's father, but that doesn't..." Dad frowned at him. "What? There's more to it, I can see it in your face."

"He didn't serve with Logan's father," Dean explained. "Bobby served with Logan."

Dad frowned, his eyebrows drawing together as he stared at Dean. "Logan's closer to your age than Bobby's."

Dean heard a creak of a door opening. He looked over to watch Logan step out of the room next to his. He was fully dressed. If Dean had to guess, Logan woke up the first time Libby knocked on his door and had been waiting to see if he was needed.

Logan ignored the woman and child in the hall to stride over and stand beside Dean. "Go ahead," he said with a nod at Dad, "you was about to anyway."

"What's the first war you remember fighting?" Dean asked Logan.

Logan shrugged. "I ain't exactly sure. It might've been the Civil War, but I'm Canadian so I don't know why I woulda bothered."

Dad's frown deepened. "That's impossible."

Dean glared at his father. "Dad, we see things all the time that are supposed to be impossible." Then it occurred to Dean to see if his father was serious about making certain changes. "You're just going to have to take my word for it. It's possible."

Dad's frown deepened. "You're not that gullible, son. Did he show you some proof?"

"Yeah." Dean crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "He did." Come on Dad, he pleaded silently, give me this one.

Dad stared at them for a long moment while Dean's heart pounded in his chest and his shoulders tightened from the tension. Logan, however, didn't give a damn if the emotions Dean was reading were right.

"All right," Dad said slowly, "if you say so."

Dad might still feel divided about the issue, and no doubt would press Bobby about it later, but at least he was willing to appear to take Dean's word on it. Dean turned to face Logan. "We're going to try out the new symbol in that kid's room." He jutted his chin out toward Libby and the student.

"Yeah, I heard," Logan rumbled. "Need me for anything?"

"Nah." Dean shook his head. "You can go back to bed if you want."

"See ya at breakfast," Logan promised before turning away.

Dean turned back to his father, who was watching Logan walk away. "He has good hearing."

Dad nodded slowly. "Apparently. Does he always do what you say?" Logan shot Dad a nasty glare over his shoulder before stepping into his room.

"No." Dean gave his father a shove in the shoulder. "So watch it."

Dad snorted and leaned back against the wall to wait. Dean motioned for Libby and the boy to join them.

"Ben, right?" Dean asked as they approached. "What kind of music do you like?"

* * *

Elizabeth Darling. The Librarian, watched the new instructor, Hunter, talk to one of their young students. Much to her amazement Hunter had Ben completely at ease within moments of talking to him. She followed after Mister Singer returned with the paint to watch. The three men worked quickly and efficiently, moving what little furniture Ben had to paint the floor. When they were nearly finished, Hunter turned to face her.

"Libby?" he asked. "Protection Symbols of the World, page four hundred fifty-one. Does this match?" Hunter motioned to the floor. "We need every little squiggle inside the symbol."

She closed her eyes to picture the page in her head. Then she opened them to compare the image with the symbol on the floor. "You're missing one right here." She walked over to one corner of the embedded pentagram. "There's a thing that looks like..." She drew it in the air with her finger.

Hunter nodded and added it, like he understood exactly what she meant. Well, he must have, because he painted it perfectly.

"Will that do it?" he asked her.

"Yes, that looks like it," she agreed.

He picked up one end of Ben's bed and his father lifted the other. They placed it directly in the center of the symbol.

"All right, Ben," Hunter said confidently while patting the center of the mattress, "give that a whirl. If this doesn't work, I'll teach you how to drink coffee."

Ben smiled at Hunter before climbing into bed. "Sir?" he asked softly. "Will your new class start off with stuff like this?"

Hunter nodded seriously at him. "Normally I'd prefer not to cover demons at all, but we'll have to start with them. It's the only way to keep all of you safe."

"Thanks," Ben told them. He snuggled down under his covers. She felt a pang of regret he had no parents here to tuck him in after a nightmare. Elizabeth took it upon herself to do it, since none of the men appeared willing.

The four of them headed for the instructors' wing together.

"How's the homework coming?" Hunter's father asked.

Hunter smiled broadly. "Fine. No problem. Finished it already."

"Not a damn clue, huh?" Mister Singer asked with a shake of his head. "Well, keep at it, boy."

They came to the split in the wing. She had to go left while the men would go right. "Good night," she offered.

They all gave her a short wave. "Night," came the chorused reply.

Before she opened her door, she glanced back in the opposite direction. Hunter stood in the center of the hall watching her. She gave him a quizzical look. He motioned to her to go inside. Hunter was watching out for her? Rather pleased by the thought, even if he was just being nice, The Librarian pushed open her door and hurried inside.

* * *

Dean watched the mousy librarian scurry safely into her room. Shame she was too damn smart for the likes of him, but on the other hand, it was good to have someone around like that. Kind of like a Sam-replacement. Partially.

He returned to his own room and the blank page on his desk. Dean picked up his pen to stare at it for another moment before placing pen to paper.

_Dear Sam,_

It was a start. Truth or lies? This was a therapy thing, so lying was probably out.

_You're not going to believe this, but I have a job. A real job. It's in a school. Irony, right? I spent years trying to get out of going to school, and now I'm stuck at one for work. Well, stuck isn't the right word. I like it here._

Dean sighed and used the end of his pen to scratch behind his ear. Now what?

_Anyway, I'm teaching the kids how to fit in, just like I used to do at every school we went to. You know, how to cop the right kind of attitude and look like you belong. Well, then again, maybe you don't know. You never would listen to me when I tried to explain it to you. You usually rolled your eyes like I was making crap up. Yeah, okay, sometimes I was. Granted._

Dean chuckled to himself, recalling a good memory.

_Remember the time I tried to convince you that girls liked it when your breath smelled like garlic, because they all believed vampires were real? Dude, that was awesome. You reeked of garlic for about a week and couldn't figure out why all the girls were avoiding you. Good thing we were only at that school for three weeks, huh?_

_Some of the kids here remind me of you, when you were a kid. I think that's why I like it. There are two kids in particular, Bobby and Kitty, who I really like. Bobby is a bit of a smart-ass, so he's fun, and he was the only one to challenge me the first day of class. Kitty is real smart, she just hasn't been motivated until recently. She told me that my class makes her want to do her homework and her other classes seem easier now._

_How can a silly class like mine do that, right? Good question. I don't have an answer for you. Maybe it's because the kids are feeling more confident. I don't know. We're taking the class on a field trip to the mall in a couple of days, so they can try out some of the lessons. It should be interesting._

He tapped the pen against the top of the desk, staring down at the half filled page. He could write more. It felt kind of good to be talking to Sam again, like a chunk of his life that had been missing was back.

_I've made some new friends. Well, at least one. His name is Logan. It's his fault I'm teaching here. We met while I was hunting a wendigo. I thought there was only one of them. Never make assumptions, Sammy. The second one kicked both our asses. Dad showed up while I was laid up with a punctured lung. After I left the hospital, he wanted me to take it easy for a while and Logan showed up with this job offer. Hey, if these people are going to be throwing around stupid money (Bobby's words) why shouldn't I take advantage of it?_

_You're probably wondering what Dad thinks of all this. I have to admit, he wasn't real happy at first. As in, I thought he was going to kick my ass. But it's good now. They even gave him his own room, down the hall from mine. He wanted to be next-door but Logan refuses to switch with him. Hank, that's another guy here, he's a doctor, says Logan's being an ass because he's overprotective of his friends. Logan doesn't have many friends, hardly any. Sounds familiar, right? _

_Most of the guys here don't play poker worth a damn either, except for one. Now this guy could make a living at it. He doesn't hustle, though, so he might have to work harder at it. If you ever meet a guy who calls himself Gambit, don't play him at poker. He'll clean you out. I'm thinking about seeing if he'll play some pool. I bet he sucks at it._

Dean chuckled to himself, shifting his hand to start another paragraph. Now that he managed to start, the words seemed to flow from him.

_I have my own room now. It's weird. I wake up in the same place every day. These blank walls are about to drive me crazy. I need some posters to put up. I wonder if you can still find them for AC/DC? Or Zepplin? You know, I'll bet I can find posters for some of my favorite movies. That would be cool._

_Well, that's it for me. I'm sure you're kicking ass and taking names at your fancy school. Really hope you're enjoying it there._

_Your big brother,_

_Dean_

Dean read it over a couple of times. Should he have mentioned Adam? Nah. It wasn't like Sam would read this even if he mailed it. Besides, if he did mail it, claiming to have a job should be enough to have Sam calling just to shout 'bullshit' at him. Adding the information about Adam would make it look like he was trying to provoke Sam into calling. No. He wouldn't do that. Sam told Dean to stay out of his life, and that was exactly what Dean would continue to do.

He folded the paper in thirds. Damn, no envelopes. That was all right, he could ask Xavier's secretary tomorrow for one. No problem. But it wasn't like he would really mail it anyway.

* * *

Scott Summers stood in his closet, digging through his clothes. He required suitable clothing for the recon mission tomorrow night. Unfortunately, most of what he owned made him look like the school's headmaster. What could he wear? He needed to fit in, but Scott had no idea what that would mean on this mission.

With a sigh of defeat, he realized he would have to ask Hunter. Maybe he should drop in on the class tomorrow, too. Hunter had mentioned they would have to create a new group dynamic since he would be replacing Storm. Fine. He couldn't imagine a situation where it wouldn't look like a school field trip to the mall, but fine. Tomorrow he would make a visit to Urban Camouflage, one of the few classes still meeting at its regular time for a full class period.

* * *

Elizabeth, The Librarian, had been staring at the ceiling for an hour, debating on whether or not to tell Hunter to stop calling her Libby. Already others had begun picking up the nickname and using it. Then again, having a man that gorgeous pay enough attention to her to give her a nickname was amazing. Even if it was a stupid nickname. When it came from his lips, it sounded wonderful.

She closed her eyes and imagined him sitting and talking to her, smiling like she said witty and clever things. Elizabeth slowly drifted off to sleep, an image of Hunter held firmly in her mind.


	32. Chapter 32: Construction

Chapter 32: **Construction**

Dean was roused from a deep, deep sleep by loud pounding. Worried there had been a dire event while he slept, Dean sprang from bed to yank open his door. Logan stood in the hall dressed in his everyday clothes.

"The iron's here, Mister Foreman," he said, an unlit cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth. "The Professor said he needed your lazy butt outta bed."

Dean groaned as he rubbed a hand over his face. "What time is it?"

"Four-thirty," Logan replied, a little too happy about it. He pulled some rumpled paper from his pocket. "Xavier said you'd need this."

Dean took the page and attempted to focus on the professor's horrible writing. It was almost as bad as Sam's and just as enigmatic as Dad's. "What's a colossus?"

"That's the strong guy," Logan told him. "He c'n prob'ly move one-a them iron sections by himself."

Dean glanced skeptically at Logan. "Really? You're not exaggerating? Just a little?"

Logan glared.

"Right," Dean muttered. "You don't exaggerate." He sighed as he tried to read Xavier's notes again. "I'm going to need Dad and Bobby to help."

A grin spread across Logan's face. "I'll wake 'em. You c'n put your clothes on."

Dean glanced down at his sleep shirt and shorts. "Right." He looked back up at Logan. "And there'd better be food ready when I come out."

Logan snorted at him again. "Your father's right. You are more irritable when ya haven't eaten."

"Shut up," Dean snapped before his brain could engage. "Just..." He took a breath to calm himself. "Just go wake up the the other old guys."

"Hank's good, ain't he?" teased Logan. Dean glared and Logan held up a hand to ward him off. "I'm goin'. Relax. And I'll tell your pop about the food."

Dean considered correcting Logan about the 'pop' thing, but it didn't seem worth the effort. By the time he dressed and stepped back out into the hall, Dad stood next to Logan tucking in his shirt.

"How grouchy?" Dad asked Logan.

Dean walked up on them.

"See for yerself," Logan replied with a nod in Dean's direction.

Dad spun around. "Mornin', son. Coffee?"

A quick glance assured him that Dad didn't have any coffee. "I'll get it," he grumbled, turning away to head for the stairs.

"Ah," Dad's voice said from behind him, "that grouchy."

Dean growled under his breath. It was too damn early for this. Besides, he needed food. Was there any of that cheesecake left?

* * *

John stood by watching the construction in utter awe. How had he not heard of these mutants before? Then again, maybe he had. There were rumors about this county, strange happenings here. Now he knew why.

The lines of the protection symbol were painted on the grounds. The guy Summers wore a strange visor. When he pressed the side of the visor a red beam shot out and burned a channel into the ground through dirt, clay and concrete. Next concrete was poured into the channel using a regular concrete truck driven by some normal-looking guy. All of his was overseen by a guy with huge white wings who called down descriptions to Dean.

His son walked back and forth with a notebook of graph paper in one hand. His other hand was usually in the air pointing while he shouted instructions. A man with a heavy Russian accent and skin that shone like polished metal picked up one of the iron tracks and hefted it on his shoulder. Under Dean's direction, he lowered it into the channel where it settled on the soft concrete base. While more concrete was added to the sides of the iron beam to hold it in place, Summers walked along another spray-painted line of the symbol burning a fresh channel.

"If Xavier rented 'em out for construction, he'd make a fortune," Bobby muttered from beside him.

John grunted in agreement. "What do you think they're going to do about the joints?" he asked. "It'll work best if there aren't any breaks, right? I should talk to Dean."

Bobby grabbed him by the arm. "Not a good idea, John."

John turned to glare in response. "Why not?"

Bobby nodded at the construction. "This is Dean's show. Let him do it. If he wants our advice, he'll ask."

The first joint was in place. Dean waved Summers over. They spoke for a couple of minutes, with Dean kneeling in the dirt beside the placed iron. Then he stood and motioned to Summers, who had been nodding in response to Dean's instructions. Summers waved Dean further away, then he pressed the side of his visor again. The red beam shot out and stayed on the iron beams until they glowed red. Dean shouted at the shiny guy, who shoved the beam from the far end while Summers kept heating the beams. Then Dean called them both off. He inspected the joint, nodding his approval before hollering for Colossus, apparently the shiny guy, to go for more iron. Summers moved to start on the next line.

Clearly Dean intended to put in all the major lines first, starting with the pentagram. A red haired woman and a black woman with white hair approached. They spoke with Dean and he showed them the drawing in his hand, turning around to point out the section in the other direction. Red hair looked intently at the ground and dirt and debris began to fly up into the air. Dean held the pad up to protect his face. The furrow in the ground appeared much faster this time than when Summers had done pretty much the same thing.

While the concrete was poured, Dean gathered the others together, pointing and waving an arm around. When they broke apart, the red haired woman returned to tearing up the ground along the painted lines. Once the concrete had been poured, the shiny guy stood waiting and looking up at the sky. John followed his gaze to discover the black woman hovering above them, her white hair flying up in a rush a wind. Next he realized that one of the heavy thick iron bars, bearing a striking resemblance to a railroad beam, floated in the air. It lowered slowly to the shiny guy, who placed it into the concrete. The red beam shot out of Summer's visor again to weld it to the last section.

"It does look like it's under control," John admitted. He turned his head to look at Bobby. "So what the hell are we here for?"

Bobby shrugged and grinned. "Don't care. Wouldn't miss this for anything." His eyes darted back to the action.

John joined his old friend in watching his oldest son. "At this rate, they could be done in a few days," he commented.

Bobby grunted. "Hope not. I could watch that flyin' woman for weeks."

John glanced over to see if Bobby was serious.

"She c'n throw lightning at your head," Logan's voice warned from behind them.

John sighed heavily. Without Dean around he could allow his emotions to run rampant, and the truth was he could not stand Logan. "Don't you have something to do?" he demanded.

"I'm doin' it," Logan snapped. "Dean wants you two ta stop gawking over here and go get the other concrete truck. He figures with two trucks workin', one c'n pour the bed and the other one c'n fill in the sides. Won't be waitin' on a truck thatta way."

"Let's go, John," Bobby ordered, striding away. "You wanted something to do."

He paused long enough to watch Logan rush back to the first truck to help pour the bed for the next iron line. Well, hell, at least this way he could feel useful.

* * *

"Dad!" Dean rushed up to him. "Hey, I need you to take over for about an hour. Summers and I have class."

"Your class?" John asked, wondering what else his son could mean.

"Yeah," Dean replied slowly in a slightly testy voice.

John resisted the urge to snap back harshly enough to force Dean to speak respectfully. They had a deal. Plus, he did not want the old Dean, the one he tended to take for granted, back. He preferred the real Dean. He liked the real Dean and he wanted the kind of respect that had been earned, not forced. He also wanted the voice of that damn furry blue guy out of his head.

"No problem." He motioned for Bobby to take over driving. "What do you want me to do while you're gone? I won't have Summers to weld the joints."

"Keep laying the lines," Dean instructed. "Summers can catch up when class is over. If we need to, we can use some scrap to melt down and fill in the cracks." Then Dean's whole body stiffened and guilt flashed over his face. "Uh, unless you have a better idea?" he asked in an uncertain voice.

John shook his head. "Nope. Sounds good. Back in an hour?"

"Yes, sir." A smile flashed across Dean's face and his son looked so much better, more natural, this way.

John found himself smiling back. "Go on, before those kids track you down."

"Hunter!" Summers shouted from a footpath leading to the mansion. All classes were being held indoors until the construction was complete.

"Keep your panties on! I'm comin'!" Dean shouted back. "One hour," he promised, thrusting the notepad in John's hands before strutting off.

Only here a couple of months and Dean already had this whole place thinking he was indispensable. John felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth watching Dean head for the mansion. "That's my boy," he said to himself. "Maybe I did do something right."

"Hey!" The shiny guy, Colossus, shouted at him. "What am I doing now?"

John gripped the notepad as he hurried to fill his son's shoes.

* * *

Scott walked with Hunter out of Urban Camouflage. He hoped he would be able to remember all of the rules for the mall trip. After scoffing at the class for two months, it was extremely eye-opening to learn this class might actually be learning useful things. Hunter had drilled them all on the signs people gave when they were not buying your story and how to change it without looking like you were making up a new one. Each student had to stand up in front of the class and act embarrassed because yes, that was his or her legal guardian standing outside the store watching.

Once Hunter approved of the embarrassed act of each student, he passed out a slip of paper. On the paper was a cover story specially tailored for this outing and each participant. There was even one for Scott. Hunter instructed them to memorize it before calling an end to class for the day.

"I have to grab a sandwich before we head outside," he told Scott.

Scott read his slip of paper. "I'm Joe's attorney uncle?" he asked incredulously. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "If anybody who works at one of the stores gives you or one of the kids a hard time, you threaten 'em with a lawsuit. Usually the threat of legal action scares the crap out of people." He glanced over quickly. "Besides, you look the type. Oh, and you have vision problems. You can be legally blind if you want, I thought I'd leave that up to you."

"To explain the sunglasses," Scott filled in. Actually, that was a pretty decent explanation, he should have thought of that years ago. "Legally blind would let me hang on to the trouble-maker in my group."

"Not to mention generating sympathy. You could have cute salesclerks waiting on you." Hunter chuckled. "Now I'm not promising they'll be girls..."

"Yeah, thanks," Scott snapped. "Oh, for the recon tonight. What do I wear?"

Hunter groaned. "Dude, really?" He rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his short hair. "Okay, we don't know what kind of place this is, right? What do you have in black?"

Scott ran through a mental inventory of his closet. "A pair of slacks, leather shoes, and socks?"

"Good. Wear those. Do you have a black t-shirt or undershirt?" he asked.

"I might, I'm not sure. I'll have to check," Scott replied.

"If you do, wear it. Over that wear any long sleeve button-down you have, even if it's a classy dress shirt. With the slacks and the button down you'll pass any dress code that doesn't require a tie, but still look casual," Hunter explained. "Don't wear anything too bright, because it stands out. Dark or neutral colors are better."

"I hope you're going to dress Logan," Scott hinted. "I have a feeling he'll need the help."

Dean waved off the suggestion. "He knows what to wear. Hey, do you smell chicken? Dude, is it fried chicken day? Dad may have to wait a little while longer."

At least he knew he would never be in danger of starving with Hunter around. The man was always in search of food.

* * *

Sam sat staring at his phone instead of his textbook. He fully expected it to ring and to hear either Bobby's or Dean's voice on the other end. Oh, this was hopeless. Sam slammed his textbook closed. Maybe a walk would help clear his mind.

He headed down the road, no particular place in mind. When he found himself in front of the coffee house he had taken Jessica to, Sam decided to go inside.

"Sam!" a cheery voice greeted him instantly. Sam stared for a moment at the beautiful blond woman waving at him before he smiled and waved in return.

He walked over to her table which was covered with her study materials. "Hey," he said.

She looked at his empty hands disapprovingly. "Not here to study?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. "I can't concentrate. Do you mind?" He motioned to the seat opposite her. Jessica nodded that it was fine for him to join her.

Her bright smile flashed. "So what's wrong with the super-student? Is your roommate making too much noise? That's why I'm here."

"Nah," Sam dismissed the suggestion. "I've just been worried about my brother."

"Older or younger?" Jessica asked.

Sam gave her an odd look. "Older or younger what?"

"Is your brother older or younger?" she asked, tapping her pen lightly against one of her textbooks.

"What makes you think I have a brother?" Sam asked defensively.

Jessica's eyes narrowed and a frown creased her face. "Well, aren't we a little stressed? You just **told** me that you're worried about your brother."

Sam replayed the last twenty seconds of their conversation in his head. Damn. She was right.

"Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly. "Yeah, maybe I am stressed. It's just, well, I haven't heard from him since I left for school. I guess it's starting to get to me."

Her frown deepened. "Really? Did you two have a huge fight?"

"No," Sam replied.

"Do you hate each other?" Jessica asked.

"Of course not," Sam snapped. "He was the only person I could rely on when we were kids."

"So he's reliable?" she asked.

"Absolutely," Sam replied.

"And you like him?" she continued.

Sam had a bad feeling about where this was heading. "Yes. Well, he can be a real jerk, but yeah, I guess I like him."

"And you two didn't have a fight?" Jessica pressed.

"No." It was true. He and Dean didn't have the fight.

"Did you forget to tell him where you were going to school?" she guessed, sounding slightly annoyed at this point.

"No," Sam snapped.

"Look, if you get along, aren't fighting, and you like him, why don't you just call your brother and talk to him?" Jessica slammed both of her hands down on the table. "I'm sorry, Sam. But this sounds like a really stupid situation to me."

"Well...it's kind of...complicated," Sam hedged. "See, I kind of had this...argument...with my dad." A sigh Sam had not expected came out. "He told me if I left for school, if I walked out that door, not to bother coming back."

He shrugged as Jessica's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Dean stayed," he concluded.

When she recovered from her shock, Jessica made a sour face. "So call him anyway. Even if he won't talk to you, you'll know he's fine because he answered the phone."

"That would probably work," he agreed cautiously, not wanting to aggravate her. Sam was still hoping for a real date, complete with dinner and a goodnight kiss. "But I...uh...might have told him..."

Jessica leaned across the table and waited impatiently for him to finish. "You might have told him what?"

Sam cringed. "To leave me alone." He actually told Dean to stay out of his life, which his brother had taken far more seriously than Sam had intended.

Jessica rolled her eyes dramatically. "Sam, people say stupid things when they're angry." She flipped one of her textbooks closed, revealing the title: Family Dynamics – Function and Dysfunction. "I just finished the chapter on how people will refuse to take the first step, to offer to make peace. Usually it's from a fear of rejection."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not afraid of being rejected, I'm afraid they'll come here and try to make me quit school."

Jessica rested her chin in the palm of her hand as she stared at Sam. "You know, we read a case study in class that was more functional than what you just said." She closed her eyes and gave her head a small shake. "Okay," she said slowly as her eyes opened, "why don't you start at the beginning?"

"You're a psych major, aren't you?" Sam asked.

Jessica smiled. "And you're a fascinating case study."

Sam groaned and slouched back in his chair. "In that case, I'm not going to ask you out."

"Why not?" Her smile broadened. "I'm not licensed, so I can't have it revoked for improper fraternization with a patient."

Sam glared at her. "Because I don't want to be analyzed all the time."

"All the time?" Her voice was light and teasing. "Making a big assumption there, Winchester. Or was it a Freudian slip? Yeah, I think that was a slip. You're hoping I'll start dating you."

Sam rested his forearms on the table to lean forward until his nose was nearly touching hers. "I was going to take you to a nice Italian restaurant. Now you're looking at pizza and beer."

She had nice eyes, bright blue, warm and intelligent. "I like beer." Jessica glanced around. "Do you think we can get away with studying at the pizza place?"

Sam laughed at her. Now? Today? Study date with beer? And why not? Hell, Dean would. "I have a better idea. Come on, I'll help carry your books."

"You'd better," Jessica huffed as she stuffed her notebooks, pens and highlighters into her bag.

"Do you mind if it's a frozen pizza?" Sam asked. "Or do you demand delivery?"

She paused in packing her things to gaze thoughtfully at him. "I suppose I'll let you get away with it this time. But next time? I expect Italian."

"Yes, ma'am." He really hoped he still had a pizza in the freezer. There was plenty of beer, he had made a store run the other day.

"And wine," Jessica continued. "And dessert."

Sam nodded agreeably. "Assuming I ask you out again."

She handed over a stack of heavy textbooks for him to carry. "You will." The gorgeous smile flashed again and those beautiful eyes focused on him. "I'm irresistible."

He made sure to brush his hands against hers as he accepted the books. "Yeah. You are," he said sincerely.

Bright pink crept into her cheeks. "I...uh...thought we were still teasing."

Sam chuckled at her. "Where'd you learn to tease? Sesame Street?"

Jessica gasped as she pulled the strap of her bag on to her shoulder. "I'm insulted! Mister Rogers taught me never to tease. It isn't nice."

He tried to beat her to the door, but Jessica raced in front of him to hold it open. "I'm glad you're my neighbor," Sam told her as he walked past.

Jessica's laugh rang out in the warm afternoon air and Sam felt a goofy smile he was powerless to resist fill his face.


	33. Chapter 33: Explosions and Leaks

Chapter 33: **Explosions and Leaks**

John checked his watch. Dean promised to return in an hour, it had now been an hour and a half. Besides, they really needed to start welding the joints already in place before laying any more iron track. He scanned the lawn hoping to spot his son. He saw some of Dean's students, so class was not still in session. That Libby chick from the library stood along the sidelines watching as well. John wasn't sure what to think of her yet. One minute she seemed to be falling all over Dean and the next she was all business. At least Dean wasn't paying her undue attention, so maybe John didn't need to worry about it. And why was he worried about it in the first place?

He spotted movement from the mansion in their direction. Dean and Summers. About frigging time!

John halted work to wait on them. They appeared involved in an intense discussion as they approached. Unfortunately their voices were too low for John to catch any of the conversation.

"Hey, Dad!" Dean greeted cheerfully. "Miss me?"

John held out the notepad to his son. "About time," he snapped. "Where the hell have you been?"

Dean jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "It's fried chicken day. Why don't you take a break and go grab some? Summers needs a little time to play catch-up anyway."

John shook his head and stepped back, realizing he had lapsed into one of his old reactions. It was odd, because Dean hadn't reacted the way he used to. Things really were changing. Fast. Maybe too fast. "Nah, I'm good. Besides, we're making good time." He hurried back to the safety of the cement truck Bobby was driving.

"Are you makin' nice?" Bobby growled unpleasantly through the open driver's window.

John glared back. "You're worse than McCoy. I'm doing the best I can, all right?" He was trying to figure out how Dean had so effectively blown off the well deserved rebuke. One hour his son had promised and it had been an hour and a half.

Bobby snorted at him. "Well maybe that ain't good enough."

"Is that right?" Dealing with the changes in Dean, both physical and mental, were taking everything John had. He could not handle Bobby's attitude too. "Maybe you'd like to step out of that truck. Tell me to my face what you think."

"Maybe I would." Bobby shoved the door open, jumping to the ground.

Ah, crap! Bobby would, too, wouldn't he? John was lucky they were here and not at Bobby's house, or he'd be on the receiving end of a shotgun, no doubt.

"Hey!" Logan jogged up to their truck. He glanced over his shoulder at Dean supervising Summers welding the joints. "Do you two really want him to see you fighting?"

"He started it," John protested with a wave of his hand.

"I started it?" Bobby snapped, stepping closer.

"Yeah, with that making nice crack," John spat out, meeting Bobby's hard glare and taking a step closer.

* * *

Elizabeth Darling, more commonly known as The Librarian, stood with a crowd of students watching the construction. She rarely had the opportunity to see the other mutants using their abilities so it was quite exciting. Plus, Hunter was the foreman.

He wore an exquisitely tight t-shirt, well fitting jeans, and was one of the few involved who had a construction helmet. She wished she could be close enough to see his eyes. His muscles flexed under that tight fabric as he pointed and directed the others. What a shame he was so damned good looking. With looks like that, he could literally date anyone he wanted. Well, she could still dream.

There were already rumors circling about what the new myths and legends class would be like. It was the most popular section of her library at the moment. Now that might be a good excuse to talk to him, to ask if there were specific texts she should be tracking down and if he needed copies of pages for his classes. Of course he wouldn't need anything right away, not until his new class actually started, and she doubted he had had time to plan his first lesson. Elizabeth resolved to at least make the offer.

There seemed to be a problem with one of the concrete trucks. Several men had gathered beside it and she could barely make out raised voices, but no words. Hunter turned to the new situation. He threw his arms up in the air and marched over. His voice was quite clear.

"Do I have to separate you two?" he bellowed. Oh, he sounded so authoritative, so...in control. A shiver ran down her spine. "Bobby, go with Logan! Logan, send Nightcrawler over here to help Dad. Move it! We don't have all damn day for this crap!"

He pointed at each of the older men. "I'll deal with you two later!" His head shook as he stomped away.

Damn, Elizabeth really ought to go back to work. Five more minutes? No. There would be more to watch tomorrow. With a sigh she walked away reluctantly. Then again, tomorrow he could be wearing tighter jeans. Cheered by the thought, she skipped up to the library until a couple of students walking down the steps gave her funny looks. Whoops.

* * *

"Sit!" Dean barked, shoving John toward an armchair. He turned, his eyes tight and angry. "You, too!" he snapped at Bobby.

Sheepishly, but still feeling he was not in the wrong here, Bobby sat as far from John as he could. Unfortunately Hank's office wasn't large enough for it to be a comfortable distance. John's face was beet red, but he did exactly what Dean said. Fuming with steam coming from his ears, John sat.

Hank peered at them over his wire-rimmed glasses. "I understand there was a misunderstanding earlier today?" he asked in a calm tone.

"If you call these two at each other's throats a frigging misunderstanding!" Dean hollered.

Well, damn. The boy could do mad. Bobby had wondered.

"Hunter, would you mind terribly if I spoke to your father and Mister Singer alone?" Hank asked. "Logan asked me to tell you he would be in the training room. Something about a special program."

Dean glared at them before spinning around on his heel. "I could use a work out." The door slammed behind him.

John opened his mouth but Hank shook his head and tapped his closed lips with one furry blue finger. He eyed his watch. After what must have been a good couple of minutes, Hank nodded.

"I think it's safe now. Hunter should be well out of range," he said.

"His name is Dean," John said in the deep command voice that always sounded like a drill sergeant. It typically made Bobby want to cram it back down the arrogant jackass' throat.

Hank smiled, and it wasn't terribly pleasant considering all that blue fur and sharp white teeth. "I am aware of that, John. However, here we all have second names. Professor Xavier likes to call them codenames, however it's more like a fraternity ritual. Being given our mutant names joins us, gives us a bond." He waved a large clawed hand at them. "In much the same way family members have a bond. Just as you two are Dean's family, Hunter is now a part of ours."

John's eyes rolled but his big giant trap stayed shut. Well, if that wasn't a friggin' miracle.

"What'd you mean it was safe?" Bobby demanded.

Hank scratched at his face, his dark monster lips pursing. "I have a theory. It's untested, I warn you."

"Spit it out," he snapped, unable to control his temper. What was wrong with him today?

"Hmmmm..." Hank looked at his watch again. "Maybe we need to wait a few more minutes."

"For what?" John tilted his head to one side, the red face and steam gone, pure curiosity now.

Hank's smile returned. "I had a feeling you would recover first, John. Let's give Mister Singer a few more minutes, shall we?"

John frowned. "Recover from what? Being an irritable old-"

"Watch it, Winchester!" Bobby barked. "I got a few descriptions of you I can throw around too."

"All right, all right," John grumbled. "Sheesh. Got your panties in a real twist."

Hank studied his watch. "Gentlemen, please. Silence. Just for a few more minutes."

Bobby huffed irritably as he crossed his arms over his chest and shoved himself back into the padded seat. Wait a few minutes. First it's hurry, hurry, hurry, we got a damn deadline. Then Dean's all 'Bobby get your ass over here' and marched him to Hank. Now it's freaking wait. He could wait in Logan's room. At least there was a guy he wouldn't mind sharing a room with. The sound of John breathing was enough to annoy.

Bobby glared at the room around him while John twiddled his thumbs and Hank looked at that stupid watch. This was the dumbest thing he had ever had to do. If he hadn't promised Dean, he would march the hell outta here right damn now. Bobby tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. Actually, that was better. There were no annoying people or timepieces up there. He stared at the solid white tiles and allowed his mind to blank. After a while his anger no longer felt justified, it seemed...excessive.

He dropped his gaze back to Hank. Hank made a note on the pad resting on his leg. "Better, Mister Singer?"

"Didn't I tell you to call me Bobby?" he asked.

Hank smiled, a friendly sight this time. "Yes, I believe you did. Are you feeling better, Bobby?"

"Yeah." Bobby frowned and rubbed a hand along his jaw. "Man, I was really pissed. What happened?" He glared at John. "Even John is less annoying now."

"Let me guess," John said slowly, his eyes fixed on Hank. "It's Dean, right?"

Hank nodded. "I can't prove it, but I suspect he-"

"Leaks," John finished. "It would explain a few things I've seen lately. He had me, Kate and Adam all laughing over something he found hysterical. Afterwards I couldn't figure out what was funny about it. Actually, it wasn't funny at all."

Bobby stared at his old friend, not knowing how to take this. "What the hell do ya mean, _he leaks_?"

"Dean is not a simple empath, as we all know," Hank began. "I suspect a side-effect of being able to push a change in perception on others is he also, unknowingly, pushes his own emotions if they are strong enough."

John sighed heavily. "That fits." He glanced briefly at Bobby. "It also means Bobby was right. I should've been making nice. I guess I ticked him off. Again." His head shook slowly. "I don't seem to be able to do anything right lately."

"That does seem to be the case," Hank replied. "However, this may be a healthy sign. Dean and I have been discussing his childhood. He is attempting to work through some...unresolved issues. He may not be aware of his feelings.

"I would like to know what Dean thought was hysterical that you did not find humorous."

Bobby rolled his eyes. Therapy. Got to be freaking kidding.

* * *

Dean dove to the side to avoid an explosion of fire. He rolled, coming up on his feet in a crouch and holding his shotgun at the ready. With a quick glance to check Logan's position he moved along the wall, his senses tuned for movement and signs of danger.

A shadowy figure darted in front of him. Dean blasted it with rocksalt and it dissipated. Cool, just like a real ghost. Logan was right, this was a great simulation. He shot his buddy a grin and Logan winked back.

"Not bad, huh?" Logan asked with a grin that promised there was lots more of that in store.

A growl from his right was the only warning of a werewolf attack. Dean jumped the opposite direction of Logan, the werewolf racing between them. Dean swept out one leg to trip it while Logan's claws erupted from his hands and slashed through the air. It howled in anger and pain, turning to leap at Logan.

Crap! He might not be immune to werewolf bites! Dean tackled the werewolf, knocking it away from Logan. Logan gave him a nasty look, probably for ruining the fun.

"How do we kill it?" Logan shouted, slashing out with one hand while helping Dean back to his feet.

"Silver," Dean grunted as he regained his balance. "In the heart."

"Kind of fun to fight it," Logan grunted, deflecting a hit.

Fun. Logan had a strange definition of fun. Dean whipped out his pistol and popped it twice in the heart. It shuddered before dropping to the ground. He turned to look at Logan. "That's the fun part."

Logan made a sour face. "You got a strange definition of fun, kid."

Before he could open his mouth to reply, he was hit from the side. Crap. Forgot about the damn ghost. Dean rolled away as Logan slashed uselessly at the air with his claws. "Salt!" he shouted. Logan dove for his discarded shotgun.

* * *

Charles Xavier watched the new danger room program curiously. Between The Librarian's research, his personal experience in Dean's mind, and details provided by Misters Winchester and Singer, this could be a valuable training program for the supernatural.

Judging by Dean's reaction to their werewolf, Charles guessed the simulation was quite realistic. Excellent.

"I still can't believe this, Professor," Scott Summers protested. "Are you sure it's for real?"

"Unfortunately," he replied heavily. "Scott, I'm afraid there are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Quoting Shakespeare?" Scott asked, turning away to peer down at Dean and Logan. "You're hanging out with The Librarian too much."

"She has proven herself most useful as of late," Charles admitted. "And her enthusiasm for The Bard is infectious."

"Did you see that?" Scott demanded suddenly. "We are recording this?"

"Certainly." Charles motioned to the controls where the young man could replay today's session.

Scott cued up the video. "I must've been seeing things," he muttered as he worked. When he was ready, he nodded to the small screen. "Tell me if you see what I see."

Charles directed his attention to the replay. Dean and Logan battled the ghost simulation. Logan distracted the creature while Dean raced for its human remains, a lock of hair inside a gold locket. It threw Logan aside to come after Dean. With a most impressive spin and dive-roll, Dean came up on his knees with a flaming lighter and the lock of hair on fire. The flames were mirrored by the ghost until it dissolved into nothingness. Dean grinned before standing and offering a hand to Logan.

"Which part do you wish me to confirm?" Charles asked curiously.

Scott's finger stabbed at the frozen image of Dean pulling Logan to his feet. "That. Since when does Logan accept anyone's help?"

Charles chuckled and shook his head. "Don't take it too hard, Scott. I doubt either of them are aware of the bonding."

Scott's face reflected confusion. "What bonding? Oh, wait, you mean because Hunter is an empath. You figure he's already bonded with Logan?"

"Life and death situations tend to speed up the process," Charles reminded.

Scott blew out a breath. "I'll have to keep that in mind tonight. They act like they've fought shoulder-to-shoulder for years."

"Something which can be used to our advantage," Charles pointed out. "With those two, there will not be an awkward break-in period where trust must be earned."

Scott's brown wrinkled with concentration. "So I should be able to rely on them to back each other up. With the three of us, I won't have to worry about the group dynamic."

"I didn't say that," Charles pointed out seriously. Scott should not feel so complacent. "You have yet to earn Hunter's trust or respect."

"But Logan..." he tried to protest.

"Hunter has a mind of his own. Logan trusts me implicitly, but Hunter does not. I can see where I am often given the benefit of the doubt simply because of Logan's trust, but it is not extended indefinitely." He gave Scott a stern look. "Keep that in mind. I doubt he would blatantly go against your direct orders during the first outing, but if you do not earn his respect, he will not continue to follow your orders."

Scott gave the screen a tight nod. "No problem," he assured Charles. "Logan was difficult enough. Hunter's respect won't be a problem."

"You do realize that the first step will have to be no longer disregarding his knowledge of the supernatural? To accept that there are ghosts and werewolves and god only knows what all out there," Charles warned him.

Scott sighed heavily. "That could be a problem, but I'll work on it, sir. I will."

"Good. And good luck tonight."

"Thanks." Scott straightened up and pulled at his clothing. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it." He gave Charles a searching look. "You don't have a black undershirt I can borrow, do you?"

"Ah...no."


	34. Chapter 34: Recon!

Yes, here it is, the chapter many of you have been asking for! I hope it meets with your approval.

Chapter 34:** Recon!**

There were at least a hundred people here, most dressed in business casual attire. They milled around, sipping cocktails from plastic cups with embossed white napkins wrapped around the bottom. Scott followed closely in Hunter's wake as they made their way from group to group. So far he had not overheard anything confirming the Professor's suspicion.

Hunter seemed to have a specific destination in mind. They made their way to the largest group in the center of the room. Hunter pressed his way through the crowd, moving with a grace and stealth Scott would not have suspected. He appeared to be more of the bull-in-the-china-shop type of guy, but clearly that was an act.

So far no one had given Scott's sunglasses a second look and that was a first. It was odd to feel like he fit in outside of the Institute. He wasn't certain how Hunter managed it, but he was certain that he would prefer the guy came along on future recon missions. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hunter flash a broad smile, so Scott copied the action.

A man stood in the center of this group, poised and confident. He wore an expensive suit that made Scott feel horribly underdressed. His salt and pepper hair, heavy on the salt, was combed back in a grand wave over the top of his head and his smile was cold and practiced. He seemed familiar somehow to Scott, even though he couldn't place the face.

"We must beware the unnatural," the man said, gesturing briefly with the drink in one hand. "The devil may appear in many forms."

"Amen," Hunter added.

The man cast a smile on them. "Thank you, brother." He eyed them carefully. "You must be new, I don't recognize you. Welcome."

Hunter nodded then looked expectantly at the man. The man, whose voice was clearly exercised and trained for addressing large groups, turned in a half-circle to include everyone in this group. "The devil appears in many forms," he repeated, the depth and timbre of his voice deepening as he warmed to his subject. "Just because the form may be one of a child, it is not to be ignored. No! When we see the unnatural, we must cast it out!"

Bingo. This was it. Professor Xavier was right. If this wasn't the beginnings of an anti-mutant movement, Scott would eat his visor.

Several members of the crowd shouted out an accompanying "Amen!"

"The unnatural ones among us, they are demons, sent by the devil. They are tests. We must find them and cast them out, by any means, or risk losing God's love."

Scott scanned the faces of the people in this group. Most of the background conversations in the large room had ceased, all attention directed here. Wonderful. All they needed was to be found out. These people might rip his team apart with their bare hands. Scott attempted to attract Hunter's attention, but his new team member wore a pleasant smiling face and looked on at the speaker. As more rhetoric flowed forth like some damn massive waterfall of hate, Scott realized who he was listening to. This was William Stryker, the televangelist.

He tried to bite back the groan of sheer hopelessness he felt. If Stryker started preaching like this on his show... Who's to say he had not already started? It wasn't like Scott watched the televangelist, so he wouldn't know. Now he knew he would need to look up the television listings after they returned to the Institute. Stryker could not be allowed to go on unchecked like this.

"Excuse me?" A large man pushed his way to the inner circle. "Excuse me, Reverend Stryker? May I ask a question?"

"Certainly, brother," Stryker replied with the same cold smile.

"How do we cast out the demons?" the man asked. He looked weary, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"By any means," Stryker said authoritatively.

For the first time Hunter frowned. Scott found his elbow tugged and the three of them moved to the edge of the crowd. Everyone in the room surrounded the televangelist now, all spurious conversation dead. Hunter waved him and Logan toward the exit.

"What's he going to do?" Scott demanded in a whisper.

Logan shrugged. "But I'm sure I don't wanna be in here for it. Come on."

Scott followed his teammate into the outer hall. Logan stopped at the doors leading to the outside, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall to wait.

"Now what?" Scott demanded.

Logan stared at the door and a thin smile played on his lips. "Just wait a couple of minutes. You'll see. But, uh, you might want to be ready to run."

"Run?" Scott glanced between Logan and the door leading to the hate-monger. Then he snorted a laugh as he leaned on the section of wall next to Logan. "I never can tell when you're joking."

One of Logan's eyebrows rose. "Who's kiddin'?"

Scott shook his head. Canadian humor. He never would understand it.

"What'd ya think of the new Danger Room program?" Logan asked. "Tha Professor's been workin' hard on it."

Now how could he phrase this without sounding like a jackass? "The program is fine, I'm just not too sure about the subject matter."

Logan snorted at him. "I reckon you're gonna need to see a ghost for yourself. I'll talk ta Hunter about it, I'm sure it c'n be arranged."

Scott drummed his fingers against his bicep before replying calmly, "Yeah. I'd appreciate that."

"Tha Professor don't want him huntin' alone anyhow. I don't think it'll be a problem except..." Logan's eyes darted between Scott and the door to the so-called meeting.

"Except what?" Scott demanded.

One side of Logan's face twisted, like he bit into a lemon. "Well...see...Hunter, he...uh...don't really like you."

"He doesn't like me?" Scott asked. "What'd I do? I mean, I've barely spoken to the guy."

Logan shrugged. "Maybe that's parta the problem."

Yeah. Maybe. Scott would have to think it over. Well, he could have been a little more talkative during the poker game. Granted. He was going on the field trip Friday, surely that would count? And why the hell was he so worried about a guy who basically worked _for_ him? Damn it. Scott rubbed a hand across his face as he pushed the disturbing thoughts away. This was probably Hunter's doing anyway.

Speaking of Hunter...

"Shouldn't he be out here by now?" Scott voiced worriedly.

Logan grunted, but his face creased with worry. "I think he's comin'." He nodded at the far door. "They don't sound real happy in there right now. Get ready."

"Ready for what?" Scott had another question, but the door they had been watching burst open. Hunter, wearing a wide beaming grin, ran out waving his arms at them to move. Scott and Logan rushed out the front doors and needed to wait only a moment for Hunter to pass them. They had to run flat-out to catch up with him. He didn't slow down until the old black car was in sight.

"In! In!" Hunter shouted at them, still beaming. He fell into the driver's seat with a loud laugh.

Logan scrambled into the back seat while Scott rushed to pull the passenger door closed because the car was already moving. Scott slammed the door closed as the wheels squealed against the pavement and they pulled out of their parking place.

"What did you do?" Logan demanded the instant the car was on the open road.

Hunter laughed loudly again. "Dude, it was freaking awesome!" One hand pounded on the steering wheel a couple of times. "I had no freaking idea I could do that!"

At the sight of Hunter's beaming face, Scott felt excited and anticipated some massive revelation.

"Do what?" Scott demanded, sounding excited too as the car raced around a street corner. "Would you pull over and talk to us?"

"Hang on, don't get your panties in a twist," Hunter teased. "Give me a couple miles." He cackled and thumped his steering wheel again.

Logan waited a few minutes before smacking Hunter in the shoulder. "Pull over already. Tha suspense is killin' me."

Hunter chuckled again, pulling off on on to the shoulder. When the car was still, he turned in the seat to face both of them.

"I could tell who in there was scared, right?" Hunter explained. "Scared tastes bitter. Angry tastes sour. Well, you get the idea. Anyway, I got some of the scared ones together. I figured they were parents, right? Scared of what could be wrong with their kids." His eyes shone with delight. "So I kind of led them to think that the nutcase running this so-called meeting was out to hurt their kids, not help them. Which, you know, he is. Cast out my ass."

"And?" Scott prodded. "What happened? Why did we have to run out of there?"

The broad grin returned. "The parents went ballistic. They went after the nutbar." He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Dude, it was total mayhem. Drinks were flyin', coats and shirts ripped, hair pulled, people yelling and screaming at each other. I don't know when I've had more fun."

"Switch drivers," Logan and Scott said at the same time.

"What?" Hunter asked, his face contorting with confusion.

"Move it, kid," Logan insisted with another shove to Hunter's shoulder. "Hank gave us real specific instructions."

"You can consider it an order," Scott added. He had been given a few additional instructions by Hunter's father.

"Gonna tell his daddy if he don't mind?" Logan asked with a sneer.

"Yes," Scott admitted without shame. "I will."

Hunter rolled his eyes before allowing Logan behind the wheel. Then he stood outside the passenger door glaring until Scot climbed into the back.

"Now we got to find some food," Logan announced, much to Scott's relief. He did not want to be responsible for Hunter passing out on his first mission.

* * *

"The televangelist?" Professor Xavier demanded.

"And he's a real piece of work," Dean added sourly. "I got the impression he thinks the only good mutant is a dead mutant."

"He kept talking about demons," Summers added, "and casting them out by any means necessary."

"This is worse than I feared," the Professor said with a sad shake of his head. "I believe you may be right, Hunter. There is no talking to fanatics, is there?"

Dean's only answer was to shoot him a sour look that clearly said 'duh'. "And you were right about parents being involved. I have no idea if they were the parents of any of our kids, but they sure thought their kids were mutants."

"Scott," Xavier lifted his head to stare at the headmaster, "we must have a parents' day. Soon. Arrange it for after we expect construction to be complete. Hunter?"

Dean ran some estimates through his head. "I figure by the end of next week at the latest, and that includes cleaning up the exterior of the school."

He received several questioning looks.

"We don't want the place to look like we're brain washing devil worshipers," he explained. "With the big symbol in place, we won't need all the stuff painted on the outside."

"Can we put some of them back up if they look more natural?" Summers asked him. "Camouflaged?"

"Sure," Dean replied, a little shocked the request came from the guy who had been so dismissive of him and his subjects since he arrived. "I've been thinking about creating some wreaths and maybe carving the kind of stones people put in their flower garden."

"Excellent," Xavier said with a smile. "And we can give these innocuous looking objects to the parents as gifts from the school in the hopes they will use them. At the very least, it will place a usable protection symbol within the household for the children who do leave to visit their families."

Actually, that was a good idea. Dean nodded. He needed to come up with ways of the kids taking portable wards with them, too. Maybe he would have more ideas after talking to Bobby tonight.

"Hunter, I will need sketches of the parent gifts as soon as possible. Scott, set up parent weekend to take place in two weeks. Friends and family of the staff will be welcome as well."

Dean shot the big boss a glare over that. Xavier pretended not to notice, but Dean was certain that flurry of emotion had to be related. The man had more plans than just the parents' weekend. Once their report had been delivered and plans made, Dean lingered behind the others.

"Don't," he warned.

Xavier gave him an innocent look. "Don't what, Hunter?"

"Don't invite my brother," Dean told him. "I..." His mind whirled for a good reason, and no one was more surprised than he when it chose to use the truth. "I'm not ready to see him."

Xavier's smooth brow wrinkled. "Really?"

"Well...I...uh..." Dean stumbled for a suitable explanation before he realized that he didn't need one. "Yes, really."

"Very well," Xavier replied with a nod. "May I at least send him notification of parents' weekend? Without the offer of plane fare, I am certain he will not attend. Besides, he does not know he has family here, does he?"

"No," Dean admitted. "I'm not ready to tell him that part yet either."

"All right. Is there anything else, Hunter? I know you have quite a bit of work to do," Xavier said.

It was the most polite way anyone had thrown him out. Dean smiled a little at it. "Yeah, I do. Thanks."

Xavier gave him a polite nod before he left. Logan waited for him outside the big office and Summers was thankfully gone.

"Good mission," Logan said as they walked in step towards the instructor's wing.

Dean laughed at him. "Dude, I totally started a fight. That counts as a good mission?"

One side of Logan's mouth twisted up in a grin. "Yep."

Dean shook his head. "You are seriously weird, you know that?" He paused outside of the rec room. The voices of young teens inside pulled at him. "Hey, feel like playing some pool or air hockey?" he asked with a tilt of his head towards the room.

Logan grinned. "Bet I c'n whip your ass. I'm Canadian, we invented hockey."

"Dude, you are so on."


	35. Chapter 35: Comes In Small Packages

Chapter 35: **Comes In Small Packages**

Bobby Singer headed for Xavier's office. Apparently there was a package waiting for him with the school secretary. He exchanged some pleasantries with her before taking his package. It was in his neighbor's handwriting, so it was probably just a bunch of bills and crap mail. Great.

Returning to the room he had to share with John, Bobby sat on the second bed and ripped open the large envelope.

"What's up?" John asked, his hair sticking out every which way as he lifted his head from his pillow.

"Since when do you sleep in so late?" Bobby demanded.

John sat up shaking his head. "Since I stopped sleeping at night. How'd you get mail here?" He clearly had not moved in a while, however. John was still dressed for bed, wearing only a t-shirt and his underwear.

Bobby stared at his old friend for a moment, both reminding himself this was the father of the boys he carried a big damn soft spot for and wondering over the not sleeping comment. Maybe John really was trying with Dean. To his credit, the man hadn't shot anyone at the Institute. Yet.

"I called up my neighbor who looks after the dog when I'm gone and asked him to send my mail. No need to get behind on my bills because Dean needs a little help," he replied.

John nodded, rubbing both hands over his face. He looked older today, weary. Bobby distracted himself from that line of thought by pouring his mail out on the bed. As he began sorting through the junk mail and bills, he ran across a thick envelope.

"I don't believe it," he muttered when he recognized the handwriting. He ripped open one end and shook out the contents. Pages of research on Westchester County, along with copies of local websites and blogs concerning the Xavier Institute, fell out. Along the top of one page in Sam's handwriting were the words 'You might want to check this out.'

"Hmmm?" John muttered.

Bobby waved him closer. "Better look at this, it kind of concerns you too."

John sighed as he stood, walking slowly the few feet to Bobby's bed. He took the page Bobby offered, the one with Sam's note. Bobby knew when John had read it, because his face twisted into a sour expression and his mouth creased in a deep frown.

"What else was in there?" John demanded, sounding awake. Bobby dumped the rest of Sam's research in John's outstretched hand.

"I guess I'd better..." John's voice trailed off as his gaze rested on Bobby. "No. We need to show this to Dean, and then discuss if we need to do anything about it. Come on, he's probably still eating breakfast."

John was out the door before Bobby could protest. Bobby stood to wait, wondering how long it would take for the stubborn mule to return. Seconds later the bedroom door opened and John stepped back inside. He held up his free hand. "Right after I put some clothes on."

"I'd appreciate it."

* * *

"Be honest," Logan insisted, setting down his breakfast tray. "What'd you think of the new program?"

"Pretty realistic," Dean had to admit. "Especially the way the ghosts dissipate. How'd you know?"

"Your father's been helpin' out," Logan replied. "When he's not drivin' a cement truck, he's going over details with The Professor."

Dean nodded, attacking his food with gusto. He was freaking starved! "Any poltergeists?" he asked through a full mouth.

Logan frowned and squinted his eyes. "Not sure. I'll haveta ask." He pointed a forkful of egg at Dean. "You're not helpin' with the programmin' so you c'n test it, by the way. Plus, you've got plenty ta do around here already."

Dean rolled his eyes and swallowed a mouthful. "Dude, tell me about it. There's not enough hours in the day. Libby can't find one book that has what I need, so I'll have to make copies from about five or six different ones and put 'em together for the class. What a pain in the ass."

He scooped up more food while Logan nodded over that. "Long as you're not lookin' at me ta help."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. Typical Logan. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two men rush into the cafeteria and he could feel waves of strong emotions from them. Normally, from this distance, Dean shouldn't feel a damn thing unless it was someone important, like Dad and Bobby. They spotted him and headed this way.

"Crap," he muttered, dropping his fork. "I can't eat one freaking meal without a crisis?"

"Eat," Logan encouraged. "Gettin' testy again."

Dean shot him a hard look. "Shut up."

Dad and Bobby stopped a couple of feet from the table. They exchanged a couple of looks before Dad shoved Bobby closer. Bobby cleared his throat and thrust out a handful of paper.

"We thought you should see this."

Both men were nervous and their emotions were strong but fluctuating so much Dean couldn't pin them down. Slowly he accepted the folded pages from Bobby. It looked like somebody had been doing background research on the Institute. Was it Dad or Bobby? Then Dean spied Sam's barely legible scrawl across one of the pages, a note to Bobby to check into this. He rolled his eyes and folded the pages back up.

"So?" Dean picked up his fork.

Dad and Bobby were both surprised and exchanged a wary glance.

"Well," Dad said, "we were thinking that Bobby could, ah, call and let him know that-"

"No," Dean interrupted, so forcefully he startled himself. "Sam was probably checking up on the Institute because he's getting a scholarship from here. If he was serious about having someone check into it, he'd call." He picked up the papers again and shuffled through them, looking for some of Sam's notes in the margins. He noticed a circle drawn around one of the symbols on the front door and the word 'amateur' with a question mark after it. "And if he does call, Bobby, you can tell him the amateur handling this one is me." Dean slapped Sam's research back on the table with a hard look at both men.

Bobby cleared his throat as he took back the folded papers. "Nobody called you an amateur, Dean."

He waved at Sam's research. "Sam did."

"You don't know what he meant by it, son," Dad said in a softer tone.

"Doesn't matter," Dean said dismissively. He picked up his fork. "If he's serious, Sam will call or write a real letter, not some scribble in the margin."

Dad and Bobby both nodded nervously before heading for the breakfast line.

"Why do they act like that?" Logan asked.

"Like what?" Dean asked, scooping up scrambled egg.

"Like they've never seen you mad before?" Logan turned to glance at the older members of Dean's family over his shoulder.

"Because I don't get mad," Dean retorted.

Logan turned back to give him a look of pure disbelief. "You sure do a good imitation of it."

Dean tapped his fork against the side of his plate as he thought about it. "I was mad," he realized, "but not at them." He let out a sigh. "Damn. Maybe Hank and I need to be working on anger issues instead of screening out emotions."

Logan shrugged. "Maybe they're related." One side of his mouth twisted up in a sly grin. "But it don't bother me. Didja see the look on your pop's face when you told them off? Priceless."

Funny how Logan could always break his bad mood, make him chuckle. Dean flung a chunk of egg at him. "That's because you're an asshole."

"Takes one ta know one, kid." Toast sailed at his head, which Dean easily ducked.

* * *

"All right, boys and girls," Hunter said in a strong voice. "You better have those notes I gave you memorized. As you walk on the bus, show me your protection charm. Anyone not wearing one is staying here."

Oh, crap! Scott felt around in his pocket for the small silver charm. He was sure he had picked it up this morning. He very nearly did not find it mixed in with the loose change. Scott pulled it out to show before following his group on to the bus.

"You should find a way to wear it," Hunter told him in a soft voice as he passed.

After taking a seat, Scott pulled out the charm again. His was attached to a silver clasp. With a glance, he noticed the female students had all chosen to wear theirs on chains around their necks, like a regular necklace. What could he attach his to? His watch caught his eye. Well, he should only need it off campus, right? And that was assuming any of this garbage was real. With a shrug, Scott fastened it on his watchband. There.

Hunter gave them another quick run-down on what to expect from people in the mall and how to tell if they thought you were lying. Scott hoped he wouldn't have to remember all of it since he was just a chaperon. Why was he here instead of Storm? Oh, that's right, because Professor Xavier told him to come. Hunter and Storm already had a 'nice' working dynamic. That was, if you called light flirting and a daily death threat worded in the nicest possible manner, a 'nice' working dynamic. This was Xavier's idea of team-building.

The bus parked halfway between the far edge of the parking lot and the door.

"Stay within sight of your chaperon at all times," Hunter's voice rang out as they exited the bus. "Only one student is to go inside a store at a time. Stick to your cover stories no matter what. I promise you, they will work. And people?" He paused outside of the large double glass doors of the mall. "Have fun, huh?"

Hunter held the door open on one side as they all filtered in.

"Have fun?" Scott whispered as he approached.

Hunter flashed a broad smile. "Dude, that's what this is all about. Fun." He winked, leaving Scott holding the door alone. Scott waited for the last of his group to walk in. He was about to allow the door to close, but an elderly woman using a walker limped slowly towards the entrance.

"Hey!" he called out to one of his kids. "Just a minute!"

Scott stood in the door, holding it open, until the woman limped in. When he turned to find his group, they were gone. Yeah, this was perfect. First school field trip to the mall and the headmaster lost his damn group. The newspapers would have a field day with that. Scott rushed ahead and nearly bypassed the food court. Two members of his group were bickering over whether to buy corn-dogs or pizza slices. With a breath of relief, he hurried to join them. The rest of his group were close by.

"Hey Mister Summers," Joe said by way of greeting, "what took you so long?"

"Oh, uh, I was holding the door open for this old lady," he began to explain.

"I'll bet," Bobby Drake put in with a grin, leaning over Joe's shoulder.

"Come on." Hunter's hand dragged Bobby away. He might have Joe, but at least Scott wouldn't have to chase Bobby Drake all over the mall.

* * *

Bobby held his corn-dogs nervously in one hand as he eyed the row of shops leading away from the food court.

"Go on." Professor Hunter gave him a shove in the back and Bobby could swear he felt more confident instantly. "Just window shop. Like a girl."

Bobby gave his teacher a nervous look and Professor Hunter shrugged at him. "Dude, you said you felt like all the store employees could tell what you were, that they looked at you funny. Now it'll be because you're chewing with your mouth open."

He received another shove before Bobby started moving down the row of stores. Looking through the windows, Bobby was so intent on keeping watch on the store employees he forgot to eat at first. At the first inquisitive look his way, he remembered the food clutched in his hands. Bobby shoved half of a corn dog all the way in his mouth. The store clerk who was old, at least thirty, closed her eyes and shook her head at him. Bobby grinned back chewing with his mouth partially open, not that he had a choice. She made a face and turned around.

It worked! She wasn't looking at him like a mutant freak. Professor Hunter was a freaking genius.

Bobby made a show of checking things out through the windows while he ate. When he was down to his last corn-dog he ate slower, not wanting his turn to be over quite yet. At the next to last store window Bobby spotted a teenage girl, probably eighteen, straightening up a table of shirts. He smiled and tried flirting with her. She grinned and winked back at him! Bobby stood rooted to the spot, exchanging smiles and looks until Professor Hunter dragged him away.

"But it was working," Bobby protested.

Professor Hunter cleared his throat loudly and gave a subtle nod in the direction of the door to the store. Bobby looked back to see the cute salesgirl leaning out watching them.

"Come on, Dad," he said a little louder, "I wasn't that late!"

"And I know you spent your allowance in that first store," Professor Hunter replied, sounding scarily like Bobby's father, "so don't tell me you were actually shopping. It's time to go."

Once they rounded the corner out of sight of the salesgirl, the rough hand on the back of his neck slipped around to grasp his shoulder warmly. "Nice job, Bobby. Let's see, I think that means all we have left is Kitty?"

Kitty's face flushed and she went totally transparent.

"Kitty!" Hunter hissed at her.

Instantly she became solid again. "Sorry."

Professor Hunter waved her closer. He whispered to her before sending her into one of the girly stores, the kind that sold purses and crap. Bobby leaned against the wall to wait. What was Kitty's problem again? It had to do with wanting to wear girl stuff, but that was about all Bobby could remember. Whatever. She came back out a few minutes later holding a plastic bag with her purchase and a huge smile, so it must have gone well.

For the next ten minutes Bobby was absolutely amazed an Institute outing had gone so well, without a single incident. Too bad it couldn't last until they made it back to school.

It was when the teachers were checking them all in at the bus that it happened. Bobby doubted he would ever be able to forget just how cool his teachers were that day.

A guy dressed as a cop walked up to the bus. Bobby was already inside, so he lowered a window to hear what was going on and shushed the others. The cop, a big guy, headed for Mister Summers. Professor Hunter cut him off.

"Can I help you, officer?" he asked. Bobby noticed his favorite teacher roll one shoulder and stretch his neck when he asked.

"I have a few questions," the cop said in a harsh voice. "Where is this bus going?"

Professor Hunter smiled, real big, as he talked. "Back to school. This is just the home ec class doing some comparison shopping. Why? Is there a problem?"

"One of those kids is a thief," the cop snapped. "I need to search them for missing merchandise."

Professor Hunter's smile dropped and both of his shoulders rolled back with a quick snap. "You must have them confused with someone else."

The cop pulled out a thin black notebook. "I don't think so. I have the descriptions of three kids here and I'm willing to bet they're all on this bus."

Logan walked up. "Problem?"

Professor Hunter nodded at the cop. "He says we have some shoplifters. You did bring that verification I asked you to, right?"

Logan frowned and nodded. "Now?"

"He needs to see it," Hunter replied with a shrug, reaching into his back pocket.

They turned to face the cop both holding silver flasks. Were they expecting to bribe the cop with a shot of whiskey?

The cop actually took a step back. "What's that?"

"Nothing. Just water," Professor Hunter said with the same smile as earlier.

In one smooth move, he had the cap off and was splashing water over the cop. Logan copied the action, his water hitting a split second later. The cop screamed, throwing his arms up to protect his face. The skin burned away wherever the water touched it, like acid. Bobby slammed the window up.

"Demon!" he shouted, realizing only holy water could do that. Bobby dropped to the floor with all the kids, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He heard a lot of yelling and shouting outside. There were loud thumps followed by the bus rocking and a huge blasting noise. Next was a rushing wind noise and black smoke billowed into the bus through an open window. Several of the girls screamed and the black smoke headed for one of them. It dove for Kitty first, but she went totally transparent and it flitted right through her. Then it headed for Bobby. Bobby clamped his mouth closed and put both hands over his nose and mouth. That was the only way he could think of black smoke getting inside you. It came right up to him and stopped, hovering in the air.

The bus shook as Professor Hunter jumped inside. "Oh, crap!" He ransacked his own pockets while the black smoke came up to one after another of the kids on the bus. "Where'd I put it?"

"Here." Logan pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over. Professor Hunter snagged it and started reading in some foreign language. The black smoke took off, hightailing it through the open window and leaving the bus shaking.

When the shaking stopped, Professor Hunter turned to look at Mister Summers. "Don't tell me. No more field trips, right?"

Mister Summers looked over all the kids. "Everyone still wearing their charms?"

Everybody said yes as they picked themselves off of the bus floor. Bobby felt a little weak in the knees and was real glad nobody noticed him sit down in his seat right away.

After checking over all the students, Mister Summers turned to the professor and shrugged. "No one's hurt. We didn't lose anybody. The charms obviously work. I'd call that a win." He paused for a moment. "But assuming we do this again, let's have a couple more adults along. Armed with holy water and whatever you were reading."

"Deal." Professor Hunter sank into a seat with a heavy sigh.

He glanced out the window as the bus drove away. The parking lot had a new huge pothole and the cop stumbled into one of the light poles. Mister Summers was calling emergency services to report a member of law enforcement potentially suffering from a stroke.

When he met Professor Hunter's gaze, his favorite teacher gave him a sympathetic look. "You're not the only one who needs a change of shorts." Bobby wanted to laugh, but it wasn't that funny. Not really.


	36. Chapter 36: Mixed Messages

Chapter 36: **Mixed Messages**

Two weeks. Sam checked the date on his watch and the calendar. It had been two weeks since he mailed that research to Bobby. Surely Bobby had had time to check into the Xavier Institute by now?

Sam couldn't concentrate on his homework. If there was one thing he could not stand, it was being ignored. When he wanted to drift into the background unnoticed that was one thing, but flat out ignored? Besides, Bobby wasn't like that. Bobby, of all people, should have at least mailed him back a short note saying he was working on it, or preferably that it had been taken care of.

He paced his nearly empty den, trying to decide what he should do. When in doubt, research. Following the simple logic, Sam headed over to his desk missing a drawer where his most prized purchase awaited use. It was a beautiful new laptop. He stroked a hand over its surface before popping it open.

Sam had to wait a couple of minutes for the computer to boot up and connect to the internet. He ran the same searches he had done before on the Xavier Institute. Most of the same websites popped up. Sam began checking through them again to see if there were mentions of any changes or events in the area.

A local article mentioned construction at the Institute, the installation of a family crest into the grounds. The writer wondered where Xavier's vanity would stop. Sam skipped to another article thanking the Institute for cleaning up its appearance. Apparently the spray painted symbols had been attributed to vandalism by a disgruntled new student who had to do the majority of work cleaning the campus. Due to privacy issues, no pictures of the student cleaning the grounds were available. Huh. Yeah, like a disgruntled student would've painted protection symbols all over the place. It was the perfect cover story for a school, though.

Back at the search page, Sam chose a link to the bloggers he had read last time. They also praised the Institute for reacting swiftly to the vandalism and for their commitment to the arts. According to the bloggers, the construction was to install a large symbol which encompassed the Institutes' grounds and it was purely for the sake of art, not vanity.

Confused, Sam decided to check out the Institutes' website as well. There was a press release on the opening page proclaiming an end to their construction, a promise to curb future vandalism through positive reenforcement, and that an open house would follow their first annual parents and family weekend. Door prizes would be awarded as well as parting gifts for all visitors. There was a picture of one of the planned gifts, a small silver charm. The charm looked odd.

If the charm was a gift from the Institute, shouldn't it be the school crest, or an X for Xavier? Why this?

The unusual charm really intrigued him. Sam had to clean the dust and mothballs off of his old research techniques and references. It took an hour longer than it should have, but Sam found the symbol. It was used to ward against demonic possession and worked best in silver. Now that sounded like Bobby.

A little disgruntled from being kept out of the loop when he had been the one to uncover the hunt in the first place, Sam picked up his cell phone. Bobby's house phone rang and rang, no answer and no answering machine. Crap. His next option would be to call Dean or Dad. Yeah, well, not Dad.

Sam paused with Dean's name highlighted in his phone address book. Should he or shouldn't he? Damn it! Leave it to hunting to complicate things like this. Here he had been living a simple, ordinary, quiet life and freaking hunting had to slip back in and screw everything up.

The sound of the front door opening caught his attention. Sam held his breath, half expecting Dean to walk in tossing his lock-pick kit triumphantly in the air.

"Hello?" Jess called out from the front door.

It was odd, but Sam felt disappointed, let down. Sam closed his laptop as he stood to greet her. "In here."

Her bright smile was the first thing he saw. "I do have the day right, don't I?"

"Yeah. Sure," Sam assured her. "I just need to call in the pizza order. What do you like?"

Jess waved a hand in the air as she dumped her book bag on his table. "Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm not that picky as long as there's plenty of cheese. We are working on my freshman history assignment, right?"

"You bet." Sam flashed his best smile at her. "I aced it last year."

"Good," Jess huffed. "Because it looks like a real bear."

* * *

Jess' assignment took most of the day and was a great distraction from his other problems. After she left, leaving him in an otherwise empty apartment, Sam sat staring at one of the walls and sipping at his beer.

Damn it. They were forcing him to do this. It was a conspiracy.

Sam glared hard at his cell phone as if he could will Bobby to call him right freaking now. Nothing. Crap. He picked Bobby's number out of his call list just to listen to it ring and ring on the other end. How could Bobby stay away for so long? Didn't he need to take care of his dogs? Yeah. The dogs. Who was looking after the dogs? With a sigh, Sam realized he didn't know so he couldn't call to check up on the older hunter.

A trembling finger picked Dean's number from his phone book. With a groan of defeat, he leaned his head all the way back until all Sam could see was the ceiling. It rang over to voicemail right away. Sam disconnected the call before he could be tempted to leave a message. Besides, what kind of message would he leave? 'Dean, I'm not calling to talk to you, but did Bobby send you on a hunt two weeks ago at some school? I figured he'd call me and he hasn't, so I'm just following up.' Yeah, right. Real smooth. Dean would probably just hang up, and Sam wouldn't blame him for it either.

Damn it all! Fine. Sam huffed to himself as he chose Dean's name from his address book. With a deep breath, he pushed the button to initiate the call. And if he got the stupid voicemail, he would leave a message even if it sounded stupid.

Almost instantly, Sam received an automated message that this the user of this number was not available and he would need to leave a message. He huffed, aggravated, but at least it was a start.

"Uh, hey, Dean. Um, bet you're wondering why I'm calling, huh? Well, I've been trying to call Bobby and he isn't answering his phone. I was wondering if you knew where he was, if he's all right?" Yeah, that sounded good. "I sent him some information on a potential hunt and I-" A beep sounded, interrupting his message. Crap. With a deep, deep sigh Sam hung up.

Hunting, here he came. Like it or not. Why did it keep creeping back into his life? It was like he was cursed.

* * *

Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He gave a thumbs-up to the observation booth of the Danger Room. "Awesome!" he shouted up.

A wave from Xavier and Summers showed he had been heard. Xavier would probably want another written report but he was neck deep in designing the Myths and Legends class. He should probably stop by the library, if it was still open, and see if Libby was around. She should know which books he was thinking of using. Well, honestly, Dean could only remember the passages he wanted, not the titles of the books they came from, but Libby could figure it out and she had offered to help. Once they had the books, he would be able to copy the pages he needed for the class.

After hitting the showers, Dean found Logan waiting for him in the hall. "Ya really like this version?"

Dean nodded, rubbing the towel over his wet hair. "Poltergeist was frigging perfect. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was real."

Logan grinned, the cigar tucked into the side of his mouth wobbling. "Good. Think it's ready to start trainin' the team?"

"Team?" Dean paused just outside his door. "What team?"

Logan frowned at him. "Ask me again after dinner. I got ta talk ta The Professor."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, okay. I have some research to do before the library closes."

Logan slapped his shoulder with the back of one hand before walking off. Dean went into his room to drop off his dirty clothes and wet towel. His cell sat on his desk, turned off. Dad and Bobby left this morning, at least one of them might have tried to call. Dean powered on his cell as he left his room. It beeped in his hand, signaling a voicemail.

Fully expecting it to be Dad or Bobby checking in with him, Dean called his voicemail. He pushed the buttons to listen to his one waiting message. The last thing he expected to hear was Sam's voice.

Dean froze in the walk just outside the school library, his vision losing focus as his little brother's voice filled his ear. Worried about Bobby? Dean chewed on his lower lip as he considered it. Yeah, okay, that made sense. Sam sent Bobby some info that might lead to a hunt, then he hadn't be contacted and Bobby wasn't answering his phone. If Dean were in Sam's shoes, he'd be worried out of his mind.

Crap. He couldn't do that to Sam. Could he? No, Dean decided, he couldn't. If Sam had the guts to call him and ask, the least Dean could do was call back and assure Sam that Bobby was all right. With any luck, he'd be able to leave a message on Sam's cell instead of speaking directly to him.

Dean scrolled through his phone list to find Sam's number. With a deep breath, he called it. Dean waited anxiously while it rang. When it switched to voicemail, he breathed out in relief. At least he wouldn't have to speak directly to Sam.

"This is Sam, I'm either in class or studying, so leave a message and I'll call you back."

Dean took a deep breath. "Sam, it's Dean. Your brother. Don't worry, Bobby's fine and that hunt you found was already taken care of. You can go back to your new life now. I am." He snapped his phone closed before he was tempted to say any more.

His eyes focused on the building in front of him. School library. Oh yeah, he still needed to talk to Libby. His hand shook a little as he shoved his phone in his back pocket. Didn't mean a damn thing.

* * *

Sam stared at the cell phone in his hand, waiting desperately for the beep that he had a voicemail message. When it finally went off, he was surprised by how excited he felt about hearing what Dean might have to say. On the one hand, he hoped Dean wouldn't go off on him about never calling. On the other hand, Sam figured Dean would know what Bobby was up to.

He retrieved the voicemail message. Dean sounded a little cold, and either stressed or ticked off. First, a reminder that they were brothers. Yeah, he had that coming. Bobby was fine and the hunt he found was over. Sam's shoulders slumped to a relaxed position. Next, an admonishment to go back to his new life? What the hell?

Sam pulled the phone slowly away from his ear to stare at in disbelief. He pressed the buttons that saved the message before disconnecting from voicemail. With that type of reaction, maybe he should've answered instead of letting it roll. Sam doubted Dean would have been so cold directly with him. Crap. Screwed that one up, didn't he? Should he call back? It was clear Dean's phone was on right now. Then again, if he called now would it be obvious he had avoided Dean's call? Or could he claim to have called right back and deny listening to the voicemail?

His finger hovered over the button to call his brother back, but the coldness in big brother's tone stayed his hand. Sam had never particularly liked being around Dean when angry, especially angry with him. His cell phone clattered when it made contact with the beat-up table. Sam stared at it for a long, long time before deciding to listen to Dean's message again. This time he listened carefully, analyzing not only the tone but the rhythm, the shortness of each sentence, the choice of words. Then he heard how Dean chose to end it, first he told Sam to go back to his new life, then he stated "I am."

Sam frowned at his phone, saving the message again. What was that supposed to mean? Dean and Dad were out hunting, they had to be. It was their life. How could Dean have a 'new' life? Was that a dig about Sam not being there? By 'new' did Dean mean 'without little brother'?

Frustrated, Sam shoved the phone away from him. He didn't think he really wanted to talk to his brother right now anyway. Maybe next week.

* * *

Dean had outlined his plan for Myths and Legends to Libby. She was agreeable to helping him find the right passages in the references.

"Then we'll need to make copies," Dean explained.

"How many?" Libby asked, her fresh gaze at odds with his disjointed, jumbled mood.

"Enough for the whole school." He drummed his fingertips against the information desk.

Libby chewed her lower lip for a moment as she nodded slowly. "May I make a suggestion?" Dean nodded. Any help at this point was welcome. "How about we do maybe ten pages at a time? You can hand them out in booklets that way and making them up won't be too taxing on anyone involved."

"Awesome," Dean said agreeably. "So how is this going to work?"

"You tell me what you want for the first booklet, and I'll see what I can find. When I find the appropriate pages matching your requirements, I'll copy them for you. If you approve, you can use the school copiers to run off enough for all of your classes," she explained. "I understand that the school secretaries are very helpful with that sort of thing." Libby pulled out a notepad. "So how do you want to start?"

"Demons," Dean replied reluctantly. "Let's go with historical references, the effects of Holy Water and pure elements, and then an exorcism ritual. I figure I'll need to do it phonetically and then we'll all memorize it."

"All?" Libby asked, confusion on her features and in her emotions.

Dean shrugged. "My Dad made me learn how to read one, but he never made me memorize it. I've been regretting that lately."

"I heard about the field trip," she whispered. Great. Figured. Who hadn't? Then she reached into her mousy librarian blouse and pulled out a silver chain. Dangling from it was her anti-possession charm. "I wasn't wearing it before." A stab of guilt accompanied that statement. "But I am now."

"Good." Dean looked her in the eye. "You'll live longer."

"I'll, uh, let you know when I have the first set ready for you," she promised, nervousness spreading out from her.

Dean forced himself to smile, hoping to put her at ease even though he wasn't. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

His nerves were still on edge. Now why would leaving Sam a stupid voice message rattle him this much? It was ridiculous. Dean considered going by Hank's office to see if the blue guy had some free time, but he opted for his room instead. At his tiny little desk, Dean pulled out a clean sheet of paper.

_Dear Sam,_

_Well, I tried calling you back a few minutes ago, but I guess you were out partying. Good for you. You should party in college._

Dean's hand was shaking worse now than right after he made the call. Crap. His handwriting was suffering for it, too. Go on Dean, he told himself, say it.

_I don't understand why you sent that research to Bobby. Yeah, he has a permanent address and I don't. Well, I do now but you couldn't have known that. You should've mailed it to me at Bobby's house. _

He needed a deep breath to continue.

_Things have changed with me. I've changed. _

Dean stared at his letter, his jaw setting in determination.

_I should tell you that Bobby won't act on anything you send him without running it by me first. It's a new rule. If you make contact with him or Dad, they have to check in with me, so you might as well send it to me first. Here's my address:_

Dean added the address of his drop-box here at the Institute.

_Okay, that's all I wanted to say for now. If you need anything, let me know. We'll work it out. Now go back to your studying, you need to keep your grades up for that tuition-free ride._

_Later,_

_Dean_

He set his pen down and stared at the letter for a while before realizing he was going to have to mail this and the last one. Damn Sam for forcing the issue, but he was feeling a little better with it down on paper. His hand wasn't shaking any more either. Okay, so maybe he was feeling a lot better. The kind of feeling he typically associated with hunting came over him: confidence. Dean folded the page in thirds and added it to the envelope containing his first letter to Sam. He sealed it and wrote Sam's new address at Stanford across the front with his drop-box in the upper left hand corner. He was pretty sure one of the school secretaries would give him a stamp.

* * *

Elizabeth Darling, known throughout the Xavier Institute as The Librarian, started in on Hunter's research right away. If she showed him how invaluable she could be in his classroom research, perhaps he would come to her with the research for his hunts too. Then she would be seeing a lot of him.

Just the thought of Hunter coming in her library regularly caused goosebumps to raise on her arms. She smiled to herself as she selected volumes from the mythology section. Hopefully she would have at least enough for a first pass at the booklet by tomorrow. Hunter would have to sit with her and go over everything.

"You're humming," a woman's voice startled Elizabeth from her thoughts. Deep black hair which shimmered with purple iridescence framed an oval face with large dark eyes.

"Julie, don't sneak up on me," she admonished.

"What are you doing?" Julie asked, eying the books in her hands.

"Hunter needs help putting together materials for the new Myths and Legends class," Elizabeth explained with a shrug.

"Need any help?" Julie offered.

"Nah, it's all right." She nodded at the information desk where two students stood off to one side. "Besides, it looks like you may have a couple of customers."

Julie groaned. "Those two again? Oh, some kids are so clueless when it comes to research. Well, holler if you need me."

"This is a library," Elizabeth snapped in a hushed voice. "No hollering!"

Julie laughed at her, a broad smile appearing. She snapped a salute. "Yes, ma'am," she whispered, her shoulders and stance stiff and rigid. "And anyone who hollers..."

This they whispered in unison. "Off with her head!"

Elizabeth turned away from her friend and coworker to concentrate on the work for Hunter. She hoped she could continue to find other things for Julie to do, so Hunter's research would be her project alone. Even if their relationship never developed beyond requesting and receiving research, at least she might have that much. This time Elizabeth noticed when she began humming, but she made no effort to stop.


	37. Chapter 37: Dilemmas

Some of you have been anxious for Sam to read those letters of Dean's and see his response. Here it is! I hope you enjoy it. (insert evil snicker here)

Chapter 37: **Dilemmas**

Dean carried his empty tray to the dirty dish line. He slapped it onto the conveyor belt where it disappeared behind a wall. Back there he imagined people with mutant cleaning abilities putting their odd talents to good use. One of these days he would sneak back there and see for himself what went on. Most likely it was just a regular kitchen staff and they had commercial tray washers and sanitizers. No doubt his imagination was far more entertaining than the reality.

"So what are you going to tell me?" Dean asked Logan, who walked beside him away from the conveyor belt.

Logan glanced around at the packed cafeteria and shook his head. "Not here."

Dean rolled his eyes as he followed his friend to Logan's room. This place was just as boring as Dean's. How long had Logan been here? Shouldn't he have something on the walls by now?

Gleefully, Dean wondered what it would take to find some posters of Marilyn Munroe and Betty Grable. They were Logan's vintage. He'd bet Logan would appreciate coming in one night to find them on the wall.

Logan turned to face him, his face all serious and his emotions tight and controlled. "There's a team."

Dean relaxed his stance and nodded, figuring Logan was just warming up.

"The Professor sends us out on missions. There are mutants who don't exactly see eye-ta-eye with The Professor. They think they oughtta be runnin' things."

Dean frowned at that. "Running things? What things?"

"All of 'em." Logan made a sweeping gesture.

Dean raised one eyebrow. "All of them? As in, the world?" he scoffed.

"I think that's the plan," Logan replied seriously.

With a start, Dean realized his friend was serious, dead serious. "Well, that's just frigging great," he muttered. "So what does this team do?"

"We start with recon," Logan began. "Kind of like the other night. Cyclops was impressed, by the way. You're on the team, if you wanna be."

"Summers is the team leader, huh?" Dean asked, not surprised when Logan nodded. He had figured Logan treated the guy like a superior officer and now he knew why. "I don't know, Logan. I don't really like the guy."

"Jean and Storm are part of the team, too. So's Kurt and Sean. Most of the instructors serve as team members when they're needed," Logan replied. "Cyclops ain't so bad. As team leader."

"You don't have any dipshit uniforms, do you?" Dean asked. An emotion he wasn't used to coming from Logan hit hard. Embarrassment. "No way. What kind of uniforms? Do they look military?"

Logan shook his head. "They don't match, but we all got an X." He patted his chest, presumably where his 'X' was.

"X for Xavier?" Dean asked, shocked. "The guy has more balls than I gave him credit for. So when do I get to see yours?" He grinned as a second strong wave of embarrassment flowed out of Logan. "Oh, come on. It can't be that bad." Oh yeah, it must be pretty damned good.

Logan headed out of his room. "I hear a commotion in the rec room. Better go take care of it. Later, Hunter!"

Oh, hell no! Dean jogged to keep up. "Logan? What's it look like?" He grinned at Logan's discomfort. "It's not spandex, right?" That blast was so strong, it sent a shot of pain through his chest. Dean paused to grab his side, unable to catch his breath. Crap!

"Dean?" Logan was in his face, grabbing him by both arms. "What is it? What happened?"

The concern overshadowed the previous strong emotion and the pain decreased. Dean drew in a long breath. He blinked a few times as the pain continued to recede. "Damn," he breathed out, "that hurt."

"What was it?" Logan demanded, one hand prodding where he was still holding his side. "Ain't that were the wendigo got you? I thought you were all healed up?"

"Me too," Dean admitted.

"You're seein' Hank," Logan declared. "Right now."

Dean rolled his eyes as he was dragged along. "What about the rec room? I thought you had to take care of a riot?"

"I lied," Logan snapped. "Now shut up and come on."

It was damn near impossible to argue when Logan felt like this, so Dean slammed his mouth shut and stumbled along. Besides, he was pretty sure Logan wasn't above calling Dad.

* * *

One stupid kid. That's all he was. Just some dumb kid whose life was more screwed up than Logan's. Nuthin' more. So why the hell was he so damned worried about the smartass?

Logan had to resist pacing while Hank poked, prodded and ran tests. The end of his cigar was shredded, loose paper and tobacco in his mouth. He stood over Hank's trash can spitting out the remains.

"Hank? Ya mind?" Dean asked.

Logan turned around in time to see Hank giving Dean a wink before leaving the room.

"What's that all about?" Logan demanded, spitting out more paper.

"Tasty cigar?" Dean asked with a teasing smile. Logan glared back. "Get over here and sit down."

He motioned to a visitor's chair. Dean sat on the edge of one of them patient beds. Even though he didn't feel like it, Logan stomped over and sat.

"Dude, it's not your fault," Dean said.

Logan narrowed his gaze, focusing only on Dean. "What's that s'posed ta mean?"

"This." Dean patted his side where he had been wounded. "If it weren't for you, I'd have been dinner. You know that."

Logan shrugged. What was he supposed to say? And what'd that have ta do with anything?

One foot popped up to kick his leg and Logan growled back. Dean grinned. "That's better. I was starting to miss your cheerful smile."

"You musta figured out what happened," Logan replied with a hard look. "It don't sound like Hank found anything wrong with you. What was it?"

Now a guilty look crossed Dean's face. "I won't pester you about the uniform any more, even though it must be really good."

"Why?" Logan demanded.

After a conspiratorial glance at the door, Dean leaned in closer to whisper, "Because you feel guilty about it."

"Not about the uniform," Logan replied dismissively with a snort.

A quizzical look followed. "About me seeing it? Why?"

He sighed heavily. "Cause you're gonna tease me for the resta your life."

A wide, bright grin appeared. "Oh, dude. I have to see this."

"Not if I c'n help it," Logan snapped, arms crossing defensively over his chest.

Dean held up both hands in surrender. "All right, all right. Chill." He pointed to his side. "That was because you felt real guilty."

Logan scowled. "So screen me out. I know you been practicin'."

Dean shook his head slowly. "Yeah, I have. But I can't screen you out. Or Dad or Bobby. Believe me, I've tried." He sighed. "Especially with Dad. He's been driving me nuts."

"Why not?" This was startin' ta sound a bit creepy.

Dean shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me. I know Hank has a theory, but he hasn't been sharing."

Logan eyed the door with a grunt. "We c'n take 'im."

Dean's chuckle sounded pretty good in his ear, clearing away the last of his worry. "No way, dude. I figure I'm walking a thin line as it is. Hank's not real happy about my off-campus trips, even if it's just to rent a movie."

"No, he ain't," Logan agreed, dragging his gaze back to Dean. "He wants somebody with ya."

Dean's eyes rolled all around. "Dude, I am not an infant."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Logan replied. "But he's pretty serious about it."

"Forget it." Dean popped off the bed to land lightly on his feet. "I guess we're done here. Nothing's wrong."

"Somethin' has ta be wrong," Logan argued, "what with the way you was grabbin' your side."

"Guilt," Dean replied with a shrug. "Dad's guilt is an ache right there." He patted the spot where the wendigo played pincushion with him. "I guess he doesn't feel as guilty about my entire childhood as you do about some stupid uniform." A bitter look crossed over Dean's face. "Great. That's just the comparison I needed."

"C'mon, kid." Logan stood to join him. "We c'n go hit the gym."

"Now you're talking," Dean said, a weak version of his grin returning. "Unless you want to go hit some of the bars? Pick up chicks?"

Logan grabbed his friend by the shoulders and spun him around to face the door. "You need some quality time with a punchin' bag."

Dean's eyes sparkled when he looked back over his shoulder. "There are other types of quality time, you know."

Logan shoved Dean away from him. Damn kid.

* * *

There was never much mail in Sam's mailbox. The most he received were addressed 'occupant'. Occasionally there would be a letter from the Stanford admissions office or financial aid. The only bills he had were rent and utilities. The electric bill usually came around the end of the month, so Sam would start checking his mail for it.

When he opened his mailbox, there were four 'occupant' mailers, one with a discounted pizza delivery coupon he would keep, the electric bill, a mass-mail-out from the Xavier Institute, and a plain white envelop. Curious, Sam flipped the plain envelope over and recognized his brother's handwriting. Oh, crap.

He kept turning the envelope over in his hand and studying it as he walked back home. What was in it? What would Dean mail to him? His brother wasn't exactly the penpal type. Once when Sam had attempted to keep in touch with a kid he had made friends with when he was fifteen, Dean had laughed and teased mercilessly. Plus that message Dean had left him. What was up with that? Sam hadn't been able to bring himself to listen to it again since that evening, but it was still saved in his messages.

After tossing the rest of his mail down on the table, Sam carried Dean's letter with him into the kitchen. He took out a cold bottle of beer and opened it, staring at the unopened letter waiting on the kitchen counter. Honestly, he didn't think he much liked the idea of reading what Dean had to say and be unable to interrupt and correct his brother's misconceptions. With a reluctant sigh, Sam slit the envelope open with a steak knife.

There were two pages folded into thirds inside. One was dated a few days ago and the other was from last week. Sam read the one the older letter first, the one from before his phone call to Dean, and nearly dropped his beer in shock.

A JOB? A REAL job? Yeah, right. Dean was messing with him, probably trying to make him call.

Then again, if Dean wanted him to call, why did he leave that message telling Sam to go back to his 'new' life? What was up with that?

More confused now than he had been over the phone message, Sam scanned the second letter. After he finished it, he set it down to rub both eyes with his hands. He could not have read that correctly. Sam read it again.

Dean claimed to have a permanent address. Wait, what did he say in that first letter? About hunting a wendigo? Sam snatched the first page off the counter.

_I thought there was only one of them. Never make assumptions, Sammy. The second one kicked both our asses. Dad showed up while I was laid up with a punctured lung. After I left the hospital, he wanted me to take it easy for a while and Logan showed up with this job offer. _

Punctured lung. Hospital. Job offer.

Dean was hurt bad enough to be forced to quit hunting? A hard lump caught painfully in his chest until he couldn't breathe. Dad didn't show up until after Dean was in the hospital, so that meant no one had been watching Dean's back. That had been his job. Before he left.

Sam tried to draw in air. He tried. All he succeeded in doing was making a gasping sound.

"Hey, Sam!" George, his next-door neighbor, called from the front door. "There's a game on tonight, you want to come over to watch it? I know you don't own a television. Sam?"

Sam couldn't answer, his chest was too tight and the air wouldn't move into his lungs. He gasped again, clutching the kitchen counter with both hands so he wouldn't fall.

"Sam?" Then George was beside him slapping him in the back, but he wasn't choking. "Sam! Are you choking? Do I need to do that Heimlich thing?"

Sam shook his head, still desperately trying to breathe.

"Where's your cell?" George demanded. "I can't believe you don't have a house phone."

Sam tried to reach into his back pocket for it, but he felt dizzy the instant he let go of the counter.

"I got it," George assured him and Sam felt it pulled out of his pocket. "I'm calling an ambulance."

He wanted to argue the point, to insist he didn't need an ambulance, but he couldn't even speak. After a little longer, Sam wondered what the hell was taking that ambulance so damn long.

* * *

Dean walked into Hank's office for his regular therapy session to find Professor Xavier there as well. "What's up?"

They both smiled at him. "Hunter," Xavier began, "we have created a solution to a dilemma bothering both Doctor McCoy and myself."

Dean scowled. "You're not talking about trying to restrict me to the Institute, are you?"

"It is a valid concern," Hank argued. He held out one furry hand, an object glinting silver against his blue fur. "However, if you agree to wear this, we agree not to ask for such restrictions on you."

Dean took the silver object. Judging by the weight he would guess it really was made of solid silver. It was a bracelet. Part of it was thick chain with a clasp and part was a solid curved silver band. On one side of the band was a red staff with the entwined serpents, like a regular medical alert bracelet, but this one also had a blue triangle around it. On the other side a phone number was engraved using large, clear print.

"What's with the blue triangle?" he asked.

"That is the delta symbol," Xavier explained patiently. "It's from the Greek alphabet and means change. Doctor McCoy and I have chosen the delta combined with the more traditional medical symbol to represent medical alert for mutants. The phone number on the back will ring the good doctor directly."

"In your office?" Dean asked, lifting his gaze from the curious symbol.

Hank sighed and removed a thin black rounded rectangle from his pocket, causing Dean to laugh. "You? A cell phone? I thought you had trouble with small buttons?"

Hank held it out for inspection. "This one has large buttons to answer and hang up calls. I doubt I will be calling out."

Dean checked it out. He added his number to Hank's address book in the phone. "If the number you want is already in here, you can pick it out of this list with the roller ball thingy and hit the call button. Here, try it." He handed it back.

Hank dutifully attempted to operate his new phone. Within moments Dean's cell rang. "Too hard?" he asked, quieting his phone.

"No. I believe it could be tolerable," Hank replied. His nose wrinkled in distaste, however, and Dean didn't need to be an empath to see the clear dislike for the modern convenience.

Xavier did not smile but eddies of amusement trickled out into the room from him. "Do you agree to wear it, Hunter? At all times, please."

Dean fitted it on his wrist, snapping the clasp closed. He twisted his left wrist a few times experimentally and heard a faint jingle of the band. "I wear it and you two will stop worrying?" He waited for them to nod. "Because I can tell if you've been worried, you know."

Xavier shook his head and rolled for the door. "I believe I have encroached on enough of Hunter's time. Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Dean flopped into his favorite chair. "So what's the topic today, Hank?"

"What would you prefer? John or Sam?" Hank asked, settling into his armchair armed with pen and pad.

Dean sighed. "One of these days you're going to ask for an easy topic."

Hank smiled at him. "When that happens, you won't need these sessions any longer."

"Promises, promises," Dean muttered.

* * *

"How are you feeling, Sam?" The doctor, a middle aged man with a kind face, leaned over. "Breathing easier?"

Sam nodded. His entire abdomen, especially his chest, still ached but the encompassing pain and inability to breathe were gone. "What happened? I thought I was too young for a heart attack?"

The doctor pulled up a rolling stool to sit beside his ER bed. "I'm Doctor Green and I have a few questions I need to ask before I can answer that question. Sam, tell me a little about your home life."

"What? Why?" Sam demanded. He tried to sit up but he felt too weak, so he fell back on the bed, his muscles feeling like limp wet noodles.

"Just give me a glimpse into a regular day for you," the doctor insisted.

Sam chewed his lower lip before answering. "Well, I get up around six every morning and study while I eat breakfast. Then I go for my morning run. I can usually shower and dress and make it to my first class about ten minutes before the first bell rings. I'm in class most of the day, then I go home and do my homework." He shrugged. "That's about it."

"How much contact do you have with family and friends?" Doctor Green asked.

"Not too much with my family," Sam admitted, hoping to skirt that topic. "I hang out with people from school a few times a week, at least."

"What happened today that was disturbing?" The doctor peered intently at him, like he could will Sam to answer.

Sam kept his mouth shut. He couldn't imagine anyone outside of his family being disturbed by the news his brother had a real freaking respectable job. God, they were so screwed up.

"But something did happen?" Green pressed. "I'm certain it did."

"Why?" Sam demanded.

"Because you had a panic attack," the stupid doctor told him.

"I what?" His voice even squeaked. Crap.

"It wasn't a heart attack, it was a panic attack," Green informed him. "I'm willing to give you a prescription in case you feel another one coming on, but I would prefer you found the cause and dealt with it. We have a list of psychiatrists you can contact. If you don't have insurance, you may be able to go through your university for treatment." He patted Sam's arm gently. "I'll release you in about an hour. Is there anyone to drive you home?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. Sure, the one time he needed Dean to be close by, and his brother was the cause of it to begin with. Irony was a bitch. "I'll take a cab."

Two hours later Sam walked slowly up to his apartment. George from next door raced out to greet him.

"Sam! You're all right! What happened?" George asked.

Like there was any way Sam would admit to the truth. Ha! "Muscle spasms," he replied. "I mut've overdone my workout yesterday."

"Damn," George replied sympathetically. "Guess that means you won't be coming to watch the game, huh?"

"Nah. I think I'd better go lie down," Sam said. "See you tomorrow. Oh, and thanks for, you know, calling the ambulance and all."

George gave him a warm, friendly smile. "No problem, man. Oh, that reminds me." He pulled a familiar looking cell phone from his pocket. "Here. I guess I should've left it at your place, but I thought you might call it if you needed a ride."

Sam took his cell. "Thanks." Calling George for a ride home had never occurred to him.

"Sure thing, Sam. If you need anything, just holler, okay? Later!" George waved as he walked away.

Later. That reminded him of Dean and those stupid letters. Fortunately he was still doped up on the hospital meds so it was only mildly annoying. Sam flipped his cell over in his palm a few times before heading inside for his mildly used sofa. The garage sales in this area were great. He stretched out, his feet propped on one armrest and his head on the other. With a decisive pursing of his lips, he called his voicemail to listen to Dean's last message again.

Maybe it was the fact some time had passed, or that he was doped out of his gourd, but after he replayed it a few times Sam could swear Dean sounded nervous. Calling _him_ made Dean nervous? Since when? Yeah, okay, so he told Dean to leave him alone and hadn't called. Well... All right, if Dean had said that to him and then never contacted him directly until he wanted something, yeah, okay, Sam might be nervous. He played the message again. Definitely nervous and maybe stressed out.

What made him think college was going to solve all his problems? Sam slammed his cell down on the couch beside him. He'd deal with this tomorrow.


	38. Chapter 38: Sam Clues In

Chapter 38: **Sam Clues In**

Sam woke still on the couch and his neck complained about the unusual sleeping position. He used to be able to sleep in the passenger seat of the Impala, head against the door, and feel fine the next day. University life was making him soft. Sitting up, Sam massaged his neck with one hand and his other hand landed on his cell phone.

Oh, right. Dean. Crap.

Now how the hell was he supposed to make this right? Dean shouldn't be afraid of calling him, especially when it was about being hurt or finding a real job, assuming any of that was true. Maybe he should look at those letters again?

Sam walked slowly through his apartment, every muscle in his chest sore and aching. Panic attack, huh? He had no desire to experience another one of those, so maybe it was time to extend the olive branch. Well, at least to Dean. Dad would always be another matter.

The envelope with the crest of the Xavier Institute waited patiently for him on the table. It was probably about his scholarship. Now what? He already submitted to that bizarre physical. His curiosity getting the better of him, Sam carried the envelope into the kitchen to slit open. He pulled out a single page, a colorful glossy paper with a picture of a huge mansion in the background. In large letters splashed across the top it said 'Parents Weekend.' Below it was an explanation that this was the Institute's first annual parents' weekend, and friends and family of staff were welcome to attend. The word 'family' was circled in red ink. Sam ran a finger over it. It was from a ballpoint pen, as if it had been done intentionally just for him.

He picked the envelope back up. The Xavier Institute was in Salem. Dean's envelope was still on the counter. He set them next to each other. Same town and street address. The only difference was Dean had an additional box number. No way. Sam scanned the colorful invitation to find the school's number. He dialed it quickly.

"Xavier Institute, how may I direct your call?" a cheerful voice answered the phone.

"Uh, well, I'm not sure," he fumbled. "Can I speak with someone in your personnel department?"

"Your name, please?" the voice asked.

Sam figured giving out his real name couldn't hurt. After all, he was using one of their scholarships. "Actually, I receive a scholarship from the Institute. My name is Sam Winchester."

"Did you say Winchester?" she asked.

"Yes. I was wondering if-"

"One moment while I transfer you," the voice interrupted.

Sam only had to wait two rings for a cultured male voice to answer, "Charles Xavier."

Sam stood for a moment wondering if he could have heard that correctly.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" the man demanded.

Sam swallowed, his mouth gone dust dry. "S-sorry. I wasn't expecting the head of the school to answer."

"Quite all right," he replied pleasantly. "Actually I am the school's founder. I have people to run it for me. May I ask to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, my name is Sam Winchester. I'm getting one of your-" But again he was interrupted.

"Sam Winchester! Well now, this is indeed a pleasure," Charles Xavier said loudly. "Are you coming for the Parents' Weekend? It's really more of a family weekend and all staff and faculty families are invited as well. I believe I marked that on your invitation."

Okay, now his head was starting to hurt. "Y-yeah. You did. What family am I supposed to have there?"

The man on the other end went silent for a moment. When he finally spoke his voice was more cautious and deliberate. "I believe you recently received some letters from your brother, Dean. Did they not explain?"

There was that tight feeling in his chest again. Sam resisted the urge to hang up and try to ignore this. Then again, if he knew Dean was okay...

"How is he?" Sam asked, his voice a little too loud, too demanding. "Is he all right?"

"Oh, Dean is quite well," Xavier assured him, "and rapidly becoming a popular instructor. I am anxious for his new course to begin. I suspect it will be one class our students actually arrive for early." An amused chuckle accompanied the statement.

The pressure around his chest eased. "So he is okay?" Sam demanded. "He's not hurt?"

"Our doctor assures me Dean has made a full recovery from his physical injuries," Xavier replied.

"Recovery," Sam repeated slowly. "So he was hurt? How bad?"

"Nothing our doctors could not handle," Xavier told him in such a pleasant tone Sam instantly relaxed. "I am certain these are all questions which could be better answered by your brother. Will you be attending our Family Weekend? His Urban Camouflage class is part of the tour and promises to be most entertaining."

"That's the class about fitting in?" Sam asked. "I thought he made that part up." He was able to pull in a deep breath. "Well, uh, I don't know. I was thinking about writing him a letter. Wait a minute." How could Dean, of all people, work for even a private high school? "You are accredited, right? My brother doesn't have any kind of degree, how could he teach there?"

"A fair question," Xavier replied. "We have a number of specialty instructors, just like your brother. They don't teach any of the classes required by the state for a degree, we have accredited teachers for those. However, our school concentrates on specially gifted children, and the specialty instructors are hired for specific development courses."

Now that sounded like a load. "Like fitting in?"

"It's called Urban Camouflage," Xavier corrected him, his tone a bit more stern now. "There is a great deal more to the course than merely appearing to fit in."

When Xavier did not elaborate, Sam tried to prod by asking, "Like?"

"Like, this is a topic of discussion for your brother."

Sam sighed. Great. Dean's new boss was just as stubborn as he was. "I'll write him a letter. I promise. Oh, and as long as I have you on the phone, I'd like to thank the, uh, Institute for the scholarship."

"Ah, yes. Well, ah, you're welcome." A throat cleared on the other end of the line. "Is there anything else, Sam? I do have quite a lot of work to do in preparation for Parents' Weekend. Your brother is a bit of a slave driver."

"Wait, wait," Sam sputtered. "What are you talking about?"

"Parents' Weekend was his idea," Xavier told him. "Now I really must – Hunter! How nice of you to drop by."

Xavier's voice faded, maybe from lowering the phone to speak with whoever walked in.

"Didn't you send for me?" Dean's voice came from a distance, like he was across the room from Xavier. Sam pressed the phone tighter against his ear.

"Yes, of course. I have the parting gifts ready for you to approve." A click signaled the end of his call.

Sam lowered his cell to the kitchen counter. What the hell was Dean up to? And did that man say he needed Dean's approval? Now how was he supposed to start that letter?

* * *

A quick stabbing pain went right through Dean's lung as Xavier slammed the phone receiver down. He paused, pressing a hand against his ribs. Crap!

The Professor's guilt and rattled nerves faded quickly. "Hunter? Are you all right?"

Dean winced as he motioned to the phone. "Who were you talking to?" He took a deep breath and forced his hand down. "On the phone?"

"Someone calling in regards to Parents' Weekend," Xavier told him calmly. All of the man's emotions leveled out.

Dean gave Xavier a suspicious look at the reaction. "You've been practicing with Dad, haven't you?"

"Certainly not," Xavier stated loftily, "your father has been practicing with me. Now please explain why you were holding your side."

"Guilt." Dean patted the area still bearing fresh scars. "It hits right there. So why would some call about the weekend make you feel guilty?"

Xavier glared. "Not everything is about you, Hunter. Now let's look at those parent gifts."

Dean was positive Xavier was holding back, but he didn't force the issue. Last time he tried that with Logan wasn't exactly a pleasant experience.

Xavier knew some real quality places to buy stuff. The symbol on the garden rocks was perfect, and the one woven into a decorative welcome mat looked right. Xavier handed over his original drawing for the gifts. Dean checked it against the actual wreath. Damn near perfect.

"Nice," he commented. "This place does good work."

"Are they acceptable?" Xavier asked.

"Yeah, I think they'll work," Dean replied, handing the drawing back over. "How many parents are we expecting?"

"Most of them, believe it or not," Xavier replied. "For some time now I have made it a policy to contact the parents of the students who were run-aways when we found them. With a number of them I have remained in touch and many of those parents are coming as well."

Dean sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. "So it'll be a drama-weekend, huh? Great."

"I know you've been practicing as well, Hunter," Xavier admonished. "I doubt the parents' emotions will even phase you."

Dean scowled at his boss. "Yeah? What makes you so sure?"

Xavier's chair rolled backwards. "My job requires me to be observant. I have been watching you."

"They arrest you for that in some states," Dean replied before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth.

Xavier gave him a hard look. "Thank you for approving the gifts, Hunter."

"Sure, no problem." Dean shrugged. There wasn't any annoyance coming from Xavier, so he figured it was safe to stay a little while longer. "We're giving the charms away too?"

"Yes. The next shipment is due to arrive Friday morning of Parents' Weekend." Xavier's eyebrows drew together. "Was there anything else, Hunter? Is something bothering you?"

Dean cleared his throat before speaking, uncomfortable with bringing it up and at the same time fearful if he didn't. "Well, I've been thinking. It might not be a good idea to have Urban Camo on the tour. The parents might get the wrong idea."

Xavier nodded thoughtfully. "I do see your point. However, that is the class making the largest impact on our students at this time. It builds self-esteem and confidence. Since we expanded your course to be available for most of the student body, other teachers are already commenting on a change in attitude and demeanor of a number of our students who have been experiencing education issues."

"It's only been a week!" Dean protested.

"Yes," Xavier agreed. "I know. That is the reason your class must be on the tour. For it to have such an impact after so short a time is very exciting."

"But in a month those kids could all revert back to the way they were," he argued.

"They could," Xavier agreed with a slow nod. "However, I would be surprised. The changes in Bobby Drake, for example, have been rather dramatic and appear to be permanent. Kitty Pryde is turning into a top academic student. Even Joe Barker is less of a problem in his other classes."

"Joe?" Dean asked in surprise. "Joe isn't a problem."

"Not in your class," Xavier said with a wave of his hand. "But in all his other classes? Joe has been a disruptive trouble-maker since he arrived. Typically he spends the majority of his day in Scott's office."

"Really?" Dean dropped to sit against the armrest of Xavier's couch. "I didn't know."

"Actually, that was one of the reasons I assigned him to your class," The Professor told him. "I was hoping a little self-esteem would do him some good. And so far it has. Since your class began, Joe's visits to Scott's office have been less frequent. Most of his grades are up." A small smile appeared. "Even if I do say so myself, hiring you was a brilliant idea."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, whatever." He sighed and stood upright. "Anything else? I need to go staple a bunch of booklets for Legends."

"Please, do not allow me to keep you from your duties," Xavier said quickly. "But before you go, I don't suppose you've heard from your brother? I recall you mentioning the other day about mailing a letter, I was hoping it was an invitation to attend the weekend activities?"

"No," Dean replied firmly. "To both questions." He couldn't tell if that was concern or pity or both radiating strongly from Xavier. "You need more practice," he snapped, turning on his heel to head out.

"Hunter!"

Dean paused at the door, his back still to Xavier.

"I just... I have been in your mind. I understand what your family means to you." Xavier's tone was soft and understanding.

His shoulders tightened painfully, the spot between his shoulderblades pulsing and hot. Dean slammed his eyes closed and gritted his teeth against it.

"I can not help my own emotions," Xavier continued. "I do wish for all of your family to be on speaking terms again, and I won't apologize for it."

The doorknob was cool and smooth in his tight, sweaty grip. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he squeezed. Lancing pain shot out from the spot in his back, sharp stabs piercing every muscle.

"Even if it never happens, I hope you realize that you will always have a place here. Dean."

Acceptance. The cool, matter-of-fact way Xavier phrased it, and felt, as if it had always been that way, washed away the tightness and pain. It worked even better than Dad's gooey emotions. He released the doorknob and rested his open hand against the door, steadying himself from the heady feelings assaulting him now. This was what he had always wanted and never thought he could have – a home.

Dean turned his head slowly to look at Xavier over his shoulder. "It's Hunter." The strength and confidence in his voice sounded foreign to his ears.

The small, secretive smile Xavier was partial to appeared. "Yes. It is."

Dean gave him a curt a nod. "I'd better go to work."

"I'll let you know when the full shipments arrive," Xavier replied, his gaze dropping to some paperwork on his desk.

"Thanks." And he meant it.

* * *

_To Dean_,

No, that didn't sound right. Way too formal.

_Dear Dean_,

Yeah, as if he were a girl. Dean teased him like that enough. He wadded up the paper and tossed it aside, starting over with a fresh page.

_Hey Big Brother_,

Better, Sam decided, much better.

_I got your voicemail and the letters. Thanks for letting me know the situation at the Xavier Institute has been taken care of. When I hadn't heard from Bobby, I was worried._

_Now, about those letters._

Sam paused to chew on the end of his pen. Crap. Now what? Well, hell, why not the obvious?

_You know I don't believe you have a real job, don't you? I can't imagine you doing anything other than hunting and hustling, with some credit card scams thrown in. Were you really hurt? How bad? You did say it was a wendigo, didn't you? Really, Dean, if you were hurt that bad you should've called me. Are you teaching because you can't hunt?_

Sam had to pause here and force himself to take deep breaths. He could feel another panic attack starting. Crap! After fumbling with the prescription bottle, he managed to open it and dump out a tiny white pill. Now what good was that supposed to do? Following the directions, Sam placed it under his tongue and waited. Within a few minutes a sense of calm wrapped around him.

Then again, good things came in small packages. Impressed, Sam screwed the lid back on the bottle before returning his attention to the half-written letter.

_I hope that's not the case, that maybe you just found your calling._

Sam snorted to himself over that one. What a load. Dean ought to call him just to yell 'bullshit'.

_Things are going pretty well here. I just got a really, really nice scholarship and_

Sam paused, his pen pressed against the paper. His scholarship was from the same place where Dean 'worked'.

_You wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Your street address matches the institute where my scholarship comes from and the hunt I tried to send Bobby. Well, at any rate, the scholarship was enough money that I don't need a part-time job to help pay for books and supplies and I was able to move out of the dorms. Living with three other guys was driving me up the wall. I don't know why, but living with you and Dad was actually less annoying._

Sam chewed on his lower lip, reading over his letter. He couldn't think of what else he could add.

_I hope things are going well for you at your school. I can't believe I just wrote that._

_Sam_

Before he could lose his nerve, Sam folded his letter, stuffed it in an envelope, sealed and addressed it. What if he changed his mind about it after the little white pill wore off? Crap. After sticking a stamp on it, Sam walked over to knock on George's door.

It opened slowly, a bedraggled George peeking through the narrow opening. "Sam? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"The time?" Sam checked his watch, which he still had on from yesterday. It was ten to six in the morning. "Oh, sorry, George, I didn't know."

"Is everything all right?" George asked, pulling the door open wider.

Sam thrust his envelope out. "Would you mail this for me? When you get a chance?"

"Uh, okay." George took it from Sam's outstretched hand. "What's so important you have to write a letter this early?"

Sam shrugged and stuffed his hands in his front pockets. "I had to tell my, uh, brother a few things."

George glanced at the letter in his hand briefly. "You can't call him?"

Sam shook his head. "It's better this way, trust me."

"You don't mind if I mail it later today?" George asked. "I'd kind of like a little more sleep. My first class isn't until ten."

"Oh, sure," Sam agreed readily. "I was afraid I'd chicken out if I mailed it. Thanks George."

"Sure, Sam. No problem." The door closed softly and Sam walked back to his place feeling a little better. Not a lot, but at least a little.


	39. Chapter 39: Parent's Weekend

Is it early? Or is it late? Let's go with late and a promise to post tomorrow as well! I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 39: **Parents' Weekend **

Logan had to admire the kid. He knew, for a fact, Dean was ten different kinds of nervous about this weekend, but you'd never know it to look at 'im. He had all the parent gifts ready in the front hall, but Logan was pretty sure Dean wasn't the one who put 'em in pretty bags with fluffy paper stickin' out the top. A full schedule had been worked out for the whole weekend. All the symbols on the doors and walls had been painted over and the campus looked normal again. Salt could still be found in some of the dorm rooms, but that wasn't a big deal. Shortly before the first parents were due to arrive, Dean had Professor X waitin' in the front hall to greet them all personally with Summers by his side.

Nice touch.

He and Dean stopped in the cafeteria for Dean's mid-morning snack. Today it was two burgers with fries. Logan had the same. They sat across from each other at one of the long cafeteria tables. Dean looked older in that dark suit, more like a regular teacher. Or an insurance adjuster.

"Ya ready ta be gawked at?" Logan asked before taking a large bite of his burger.

Dean rolled his eyes and chewed noisily. He swallowed to clear his mouth. "About as ready as I'll ever be." A soft sigh came from his friend. "I don't get why Xavier is so hot for me to be on the tour."

"You're not on tha tour," Logan replied stiffly. "Your class is. There's a difference."

Dean crammed more burger in his mouth. Logan was reminded of eating contests at county fairs. Dean woulda won if he'd been around back then. He tried to imagine Dean wearin' suspenders and a flat top straw hat.

"What's so funny?" Dean demanded through a half-full mouth.

Logan shook his head. "Nuthin'. It was just a stupid..." A soft breeze blew by him, but they were indoors. He stopped to sniff the air. Without lookin' he could tell Dean had tensed, ready for Logan to make the first move. He scanned the empty cafeteria and nobody was there 'cept him and the kid. But his nose don't lie.

"Logan?" Dean whispered. Funny how the kid could eat so damned fast.

He stood up, facing the area of the foreign scent. "Somebody's here."

The kid could be real quiet when he wanted. All it took was a flick of his fingers and Dean was headin' around the other side, boxin' in the intruder. Logan scented the air again. It was stronger now, full of fear-scent. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, watchin' for any clue. Pretty sure Dean was behind tha intruder; Logan extended his claws and held his arms out to the side.

"C'mon out," he growled. "Or we'll have ta get nasty."

"Hey!" Dean shouted towards the kitchen. "We need some flour out here!"

A five pound sack sailed through the air, caught easily by Dean. Summers was right about one thing, the kid could think on his feet. Dean ripped open the end of the paper flour sack and spun on his heel, white powder filling the air between them and behind Dean. Instantly Logan could pick out where the flour came to rest on a human outline. He ran towards the shadowy outline, Dean matching his pace a few feet away. The intruder ran for the exit but whoever-it-was didn't stand a chance. Logan retracted his claws and Dean lunged for the powdered person. Quickly Logan added his weight, catching him by the legs and helping to pin him to the floor.

As they wrestled the white powdered figure, the punk kid turned visible. Dean flipped him over and rolled his eyes.

"Joe! What the hell are you doing?"

"Joe?" Logan glared at the teen boy he held by the legs. "You know this creep?"

"He's in my class," Dean replied. "Let him up, Logan." He hauled the teen to his feet. Dean scowled down at what had been a clean suit, now unevenly coated in flour. "Oh, that's just great."

"Go change," Logan suggested with a jerk of his head towards the door, "I'll take care-a this."

Dean leaned in until he was nose-to-nose with the brat. "Detention. One month. With him and me."

The kid, Joe, his eyes went real wide at that. He swallowed hard as he tried to brush some of the flour from his hair. "Sorry, Professor," he said weakly.

"I don't want to hear it," Dean snapped. "Boy, you're going to be running laps in your freaking sleep."

"Go on," Logan urged, having the uncomfortable feeling Dean was real close ta losin' control. He could be a mite emotional some days. "We'll figure out his punishment later. Honest. Now git."

"Git?" Dean glared down at his flour-covered arms. "You sound like Bobby. Yeah, all right, I'm goin'. Let Professor X know I might be a couple minutes late? Crap. Why does this stuff have to happen to me?"

Logan held Joe by the scruff of his neck and forced the brat out of the cafeteria towards the school offices. Crap. There weren't nobody there taday. And this'd be a real sight in front-a tha parents.

"We're waitin' for Summers," Logan announced, shoving Joe ahead of him for the headmaster's office. "I don't care if it takes all damn day."

* * *

Professor Xavier led the first group of parents towards the rec room. He had wondered briefly over Kitty's message that Urban Camo had moved to its regular meeting place, but he had trusted Dean this far. Extending that trust a little surely couldn't hurt, not with the amazing results he had been seeing.

"This is one of our newest classes," he announced to the parents. "It is still rather experimental, however the results have been most promising." He paused outside the room, his chair spinning around to face the parents. "This class teaches your children how to fit in and feel at home in any environment. Many of you have been understandably concerned with visits home. It is courses like this which will help your children acclimate to the expectations of society as well as family and friends."

The doors behind him flew open, seemingly of their own accord. Many of the parents wore confused expressions. Xavier turned his chair around again and nearly laughed at the sight which greeted them. There was a cluster of students around the television watching some type of sporting event and cheering loudly. Another cluster stood around the air hockey table watching Dean battle Bobby Drake. Everyone wore ordinary, nondescript clothing and many also had donned ballcaps.

"Excuse me?" Xavier said loudly, playing along with his newest instructor's demonstration. "Excuse me!"

The sound of the television was turned down and everyone paused in what they were doing to look at him.

"Hey, Professor!" Dean called out with a wave. "Dude, I thought this was the time for Urban Camo? What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing?" Xavier demanded. He had wished he could watch first-hand on Dean's first day with this course. Perhaps this would make up for it.

Dean shrugged. "Just hangin' out. Want to join us?"

Many of the children changed positions then, spreading out casually through the room and appearing quite comfortable and confident. Kitty Pryde waved for her parents to enter the room and join her. Bobby Drake held up one of the air hockey paddles for his father to see.

"Do we have time?" Mister Drake asked.

Xavier made a show of checking his watch. "Yes, I suppose so. Hopefully we will catch up with Urban Camo in progress." He motioned to the other parents. "Please, feel free to join your children."

The parents mingled, smiles rapidly appearing. Xavier suspected the parents were pleased with finding their children so happy and relaxed. All the parents attempted to join their childrens' activities, watching either the game on television or the air hockey match. Animated conversations erupted all through the room.

"I wish you could be more like this at home," one mother commented from her position on the sofa watching the sporting event.

"Hey," a father interrupted. "Isn't this last week's game?"

The kids all laughed at him. "Why would we be watching last week's game?" his son demanded. "What good would that do?"

Dean leaned across the back of the sofa. "Dude, that sounds like something they do in Urban Camouflage. You know, the stuff about looking and acting like you belong." He turned from the father to swat the boy's shoulder. "Think you can pull it off at home?"

"Sure, Professor," the boy replied earnestly with a wide grin. "The ref's blind!" he bellowed to Dean's obvious amusement.

"Will that work, dad?" Dean asked the boy's father.

The man's obvious puzzlement showed as his eyes darted from his son to his son's teacher. "Wait. What? Is-is this the class?"

The boy laughed loudly. "You should've seen what he did to us on the first day, Dad! This was nothing."

Dean placed two fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. The television was turned off and the students who had been lounging on the other side of the room rushed toward the sofa.

"I'm Hunter," Dean announced to the parents. "My job is to teach your kids how to fit in. As many of you may know, you don't have to have mutant dna to feel like you stand out, but it helps." There were a few weak chuckles. "Anyway, when you don't feel like everyone who looks at you knows you don't belong, you start to feel relaxed and comfortable. When you're relaxed and comfortable, it's rare for anyone to accuse you of not belonging wherever you are."

"So you're teaching them to lie?" a mother asked skeptically. Charles wondered if she could be part of the anti-mutant movement.

Dean shook his head. "No, ma'am. Not lie. Is it a lie to find ways of not standing out in a crowd? Is it a lie to be able to walk through the mall without bystanders or salespeople looking at you strangely? Is it a lie to be able to hang out with kids your own age and gripe about your parents?" Dean spread his hands out in front of him. Xavier noticed that his shoulders had not even twitched. "When you don't feel like a freak, when you can fit in anywhere you go, it builds self-confidence."

He motioned to Kitty Pryde. "On average, the grades of all the kids participating in this class have risen a whole letter. We have a few who are discipline problems and, with only one exception, we've seen a lot of improvement in them as well."

"Exception?" Xavier asked without thinking.

Dean met his gaze. "Later."

Ah, yes. Not in front of the parents. Xavier nodded in agreement.

"I understand many of you have wanted your kids to come home for the holidays, but he or she has not been too enthusiastic about the idea?" Most of the adult heads in the room nodded. Dean glanced back and forth as he addressed the students. "Who's up for going home over Winter Break, for Christmas?"

A raucous shout filled the rec room, causing Xavier to smile broadly. Already this course had exceeded his expectations. Dean checked his watch.

"Hey, it's almost time for the next group. Kids, take your parents to the classrooms. The English Lit, History and Math teachers are waiting to meet all of you. Let's go, move out!" He clapped his hands loudly. As the children led their wondering parents from the room, a second set of students rushed in to take their places.

Xavier motioned for Dean to come near. "Hunter, does Scott know about this?" he asked in reference to the next group of parents.

Dean grinned without shame. Clearly not. Xavier gave him another nod. "We shall discuss this later."

Dean winked before giving his chair a shove out of the room, the rascal. Yes, if anyone were the walking definition of rascal, it was Dean Winchester.

* * *

Sam sat in the personal office of the head of the psychology department at Stanford. Once Sam had explained to his guidance counselor about suffering a panic attack, she had set this up. He rubbed his sweaty hands nervously against his jeans.

Professor Melton returned with two cups of coffee. He handed one over to Sam.

"Thanks." Sam accepted the real mug, briefly wishing for a paper cup in case his hands shook bad enough to drop it.

"So, Sam, tell me why you're here," Professor Melton said. He settled in behind his large oak desk with only a clean pad of paper and a single pen. "Panic attacks aren't very common, which is the reason I agreed to see you on a Saturday. What do you think caused yours?"

Sam sighed heavily. He knew this was going to sound unbelievably stupid, but what choice did he have? "I got a letter from my brother. Well, two letters, really, but they were in the same envelope."

"Really?" Melton peered at him from across the desk. "I don't suppose you brought them with you?"

Sam pulled the letters from his pocket. Dean had mentioned the wendigo hunt, where he had supposedly been hurt... Nausea assaulted Sam and he tossed the letters on Melton's desk, as far from him as he could.

Melton made a face as he picked up the letters. He read both, the silence settling in between the four white walls stifling.

"Breathe, Sam," Melton's voice came from behind a letter. "I'll be done in a moment."

After an endless wait, Professor Melton lowered the letters to his desk. "He mentions hunting an animal in here. I didn't recognize the name."

"Uh, yeah, that's..." He knew this was coming! Damn it, he really should have edited those letters first. "It's what my brother calls a bear that's mauled a human. That's what he does, hunt down wild animals who attack people." Not bad, he told himself. He would have to remember that one.

"Interesting," Melton murmured. "Is the problem your brother changing jobs? Or that he was forced to?"

"F-forced?" Sam stammered. He had nearly convinced himself he had imagined that part.

"Certainly." Melton said with a serious nod. "In the first letter he mentions being hospitalized with a punctured lung and his father..." Melton looked across at Sam. "Your father?"

Sam nodded, swallowing hard.

"Your father wanted him to take it easy for a while. It sounds like not only the injury forced a change in position, but also your father insisted upon it." He smoothed the letters out on the surface of his desk and pointed out the appropriate passage. "You know your family better than I do. What would it take for your father to insist on your brother accepting a new job? Would it have to be a serious injury, or would he use a minor one as an excuse?"

Sam shook his head, an honest reply his only answer. Nothing could convince Dad to stop hunting, or to allow either of his sons to stop. "It's impossible," he said with a heavy sigh. "I can't imagine Dad allowing Dean to stop, much less making it an order."

"I was afraid of that." Melton pointed to the second letter. "This letter appears to be your brother's way of telling you where he is and that he expects you to contact him directly, not through a third party. Did you try using a third party, Sam? He says you sent some research to a Bobby."

Sam shrugged. "Like he said, Bobby has a permanent address. Dean doesn't. Well, didn't. Hell, I don't know whether to believe it or not! This could be just another one of his drop boxes."

Yeah, actually, that had to be it. Dean invented some story and was throwing more and more outrageous crap at Sam trying to force him into coming back. So why did Charles Xavier of the Xavier Institute seem to know his brother? Oh, God, was that a migraine starting? Yeah, he needed that. Panic attacks and migraines. Next his rheumatism would start acting up.

"Another drop box? Yes, the letter does make it sound like you brother used to lead a rather nomadic life." Melton's gaze locked with Sam's. "I take it you don't find your brother having a permanent address possible either?"

Sam shook his head.

"Sam, would you mind if I borrowed these letters for a couple of days?" Professor Melton asked. "If your brother is teaching, even in a private school, I do have a number of contacts I could call. I can check it out."

Crap. Slowly Sam pulled the glossy invitation from his pocket. "I kind of have." He pushed it at Melton. "They said he's working there, but I just can't believe it. I mean, Dean never did homework, never studied. I was amazed when he passed the test for his GED. He didn't bother to study for it either, so it must've been pretty easy."

Melton frowned at him. "You certainly seem to have a low opinion of your brother, Sam. Why is that?"

"What?" The word was forced out as Sam's chest seized tight. Crap! Pills. He needed those pills. Where were they, did he bring them?

Professor Melton rushed around the desk to help him find the pill bottle, which was in the bottom of his book bag. Once the little magic pill had time to work, Melton made him go sit on the sofa against the far wall. The therapist dragged his desk chair over to sit facing Sam.

"At the moment I'd say the source of your panic attacks is guilt. Let's talk about this guilt," Melton said slowly. "Sam, do you blame yourself for your brother's injuries? Because you weren't there?"

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but he knew in his gut it was true. "If I'd been there he would be fine."

"Why, Sam?" Melton asked in a gentle voice. "Is your brother not capable of working alone? I understand it must be a dangerous profession-"

"It is," Sam snapped harshly. "Dad never let us hunt without him. I can't believe..." An aggravated grunt escaped and Sam rolled his eyes. "Why would Dean have been out hunting alone? It just doesn't make sense!" He threw a hand out in the direction of the desk and Dean's letters. "And who the hell is this Logan guy? Why would he offer my brother, of all people, a job teaching _kids_?"

"He isn't good with kids?" Melton asked.

"He doesn't even know any," Sam snapped.

"It certainly sounds like he does now," the psychology professor told him. "Sam, when was the last time you spoke with your brother?"

One hand raked nervously through his hair. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Melton stared at him for a moment before answering. "It could have a great deal to do with it. When was the last time you two spoke?"

He scratched at his upper arm and shrugged. "Do you mean in person? Or on the phone?"

"Either."

Sam avoided the man's eyes. "Does leaving a voicemail count?"

"No. Sam look at me." Sam dragged his gaze from the far wall to the professor. "When was the last time you conversed with your brother?"

He sighed heavily. "Right before I came to school."

"So this summer? You haven't spoken since the fall term started?" Melton asked.

Sam shook his head. "Last summer."

"Over a year, then," Melton said with a nod of his head. "Well, that would explain a few things. I take it you found a news story that you thought your family would find interesting and sent it to a family friend? That action is what precipitated these letters?"

Sam sighed again, nodding.

"Sam, I noticed the dates on those letters. It appears your brother began writing to you before you sent your letter to this Bobby person, but he didn't mail it." Melton drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the arm of his chair. "I don't suppose your brother is the type to see a therapist?"

Now he laughed. "No way. Sharing and caring? Ha!" Sam laughed again. "Dean would rather gouge out his own eyes with a spoon. Therapy? Get real."

* * *

Logan's tray clattered on the table as he sat across from Dean. "Hey, kid. Did I tell ya about tha improvements to tha program?"

Dean shook his head and scooped up another forkful of mashed potatoes. Then he noticed a sense of calm and serenity. Dean looked up to discover Hank placing a tray next to his.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Hank greeted before easing his bulk into a chair. "Hunter, I understand your unscheduled demonstrations went well today."

Dean chuckled and shrugged. "Hey, it's not my fault Joe ruined my suit. So I improvised." His eyes glittered gleefully when he looked over at Logan. "The kids loved it."

Logan snorted at him. "I'll bet."

"Aw, you're just jealous because you weren't there this time," Dean teased.

"Most likely," Hank agreed with a nod. He motioned at the adults interspersed with the students at the other tables. "Now this is a sight I never thought I would see."

"I reckon we'll be lucky if tha run-aways don't take off again," Logan stated with a sour face. "Man, I hate havin' ta track them down."

"Oh, relax," Dean chided. "Everybody's having a good time."

"I was wondering how you thought the parents are acclimating to the school and how it has influenced their children," Hank said.

Dean jabbed a thumb toward Hank and looked to Logan. "He swallowed a dictionary, right?"

A quick grin flashed across Logan's face and he snorted into his food.

"It is a legitimate question, Hunter," Hank insisted. "Have you detected any ill will?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Like I said, everybody's having a good time. Well, everybody except Joe."

"Joe?" Hank asked, his curiosity strong. "Which Joe?"

"Tha one that goes invisible," Logan stated with a frown. "How come I didn't know we had a kid who could be invisible?"

A puff of smoke and the smell of rotten eggs followed Logan's question. Kurt stood in the chair next to him.

"Dude," Dean hissed, "not in front of the parents!"

"Oh!" Kurt glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the cafeteria. "Have I alarmed anyone?"

"Sit down," Logan growled. "Didya get the brat ta talk or what?"

Kurt dropped into the seat with an audible plop. "Yes. I have spoken mit Joe. He vas embarrassed that his parents vere not coming, so he tried to sneak out."

Now how the hell would sneaking out of school help if your parents wouldn't be there anyway? "I don't understand."

"I believe I do," Hank said heavily. "Where is Joe now?"

"Detention mit Cyclops," Kurt replied. "Mmmmm. Dinner smells gut."

"Walk," Dean warned before the small blue guy could go popping away.

"Of course." Kurt hurried away for the dinner line.

"What is it, Doc?" Logan asked. "I'm with Dean. This don't make sense."

"I believe Joe wanted his parents to attend so badly, he thought running away would bring them here," Hank replied.

Dean stared in disbelief. "Dude. And you make me do therapy?"

"Yes." Hank sighed heavily. "I believe I have acquired a new patient."

"He can have my time-slot," Dean offered hopefully.

Both Logan and Hank glared at him. "No." Irritation came from both of them.

Dean shrugged, returning his attention to his dinner. "Hey, just tryin' to be helpful."

"Is Legends still supposed to start on Monday? Are you ready?" Hank asked.

Dean tapped his fork gently against the surface of his tray. "Well, I should have enough booklets for the first couple of weeks. The thing that's bugging me is memorizing all those names."

He watched Logan and Hank exchange a look of surprise. "What names, Hunter?" Hank asked in a pleasant voice.

Dean motioned to the rest of the cafeteria. "The kids."

"Perhaps you should wait for Monday," Hank suggested. "Often it's easier to remember names when there is a face to put with them."

Dean made a face. "I won't use nametags. Too dorky."

"Try 'hey you'," Logan suggested. "Works for me."

Dean had to grin at how helpful Mister 'I don't staple' was. "Yeah, I'll remember that. Thanks," he replied sarcastically.

"I believe Logan does mean well," Hank added.

Dean gave Hank his most innocent face, knowing full well nobody here would buy it. "Really?"

He found himself on the receiving end of three dinner rolls, one from Logan and two from further down the table. When he looked in that direction, Summers and Banshee were both lowering a hand.

"Dude, paybacks are hell," he threatened, but he couldn't lose the grin. "Way to set an example, Mister Headmaster."

Summers scowled at him, his mouth open with a sharp retort, when a big guy bumped him from behind. "I'm shocked this pain in the ass loosened up that much."

A beaming smile appeared on Summers' face as he jumped out of his chair to greet the guy harassing him.

"Who's that?" Dean asked in a hushed voice.

"His brother," Logan said with a shrug. "Been on a mission. I don't think he'll be at the poker game tanight."

Dean couldn't help casting the occasional glance down the table at the two brothers. They talked animatedly with each other, happy to be together. The feelings of belonging and happy relief were nearly overwhelming but Dean didn't want to screen them out. What he wanted, he realized, was to experience that for himself. In time. Sam just needed a little more time. So did he.


	40. Chapter 40: Therapy and Letters

Chapter 40: **Therapy and Letters**

Sam sat on the edge of Professor Melton's sofa, one knee bouncing nervously. It was very nice of this professor to offer these free counseling sessions every Friday, but Sam was starting to think it was a waste of time. The man was a little clueless.

"You know, Sam, I've been doing a little research on my own. I had no idea how many Stanford students had issues with anxiety." Sam had said it before, he would say it again: the man was clueless. "I thought I would mention it so you would know you aren't the only student suffering from panic attacks."

Sam sighed and leaned back until his head could rest against the wall. It felt like this could be a long session. Joy.

"Now, that being said, I've read these letters over a few times, Sam," he said calmly. "The first letter seems conversational in tone and appears to have no other purpose. The second letter, however, was written with a clear intent. I suspect the first letter was only included to inform you why your brother has a permanent address."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He probably wrote them at the same time and put different dates on them. You don't know my brother."

"That's true. Why don't you tell me about him?" Melton suggested.

Sam leaned back into the sofa, eying the therapist carefully. "I doubt you'll believe me."

"Try me," he challenged.

"All right. Fine." Sam took a deep breath before starting. "He dresses like a hardcore biker, from the steel toe boots to a worn leather jacket. He keeps his hair real short, probably because he doesn't have to worry about it that way. He's arrogant, cocky, and constantly picking up women." He shrugged.

Melton nodded thoughtfully. "You're saying you two are nothing alike?"

"Pretty much," Sam replied stiffly. When he was a kid he used to study his big brother, trying to imitate everything about him. By the teen years, Sam had realized that he couldn't be just like his big brother because they disagreed on one major subject: Dad. Dean never, ever questioned Dad. Not once. It didn't matter how stupid or ridiculous the order sounded, Dean always carried it out to the letter. That was when Sam realized just how different they were.

"Very interesting, Sam. How different are you?" Melton watched him with curiosity and an understanding expression.

Sam huffed in aggravation. He hadn't meant to say all that out loud. Stupid therapy.

* * *

Dean sat in his favorite armchair of Hank's, one foot kicked over his knee. "What's the topic today, Hank? Dad or Sam?"

Hank was still standing. "Today we are not having a private session," he announced, twisting the doorknob. The door opened to reveal Dad standing in the hall. His clothes were rumpled and his eyes bloodshot, like he had come straight from bed. "John, please take your seat."

"Dad, I didn't know you were here. When'd you get in?" Dean asked as he stood.

Dad rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Uh, I don't know. A couple of hours ago. You were teaching." He yawned widely. "Didn't want to bother you."

Dean glared when his father's arms did not extend. "Don't tell me I'm too old."

Pure joy filled his father as those wide, safe arms opened. Dean stepped into the embrace, more than a little humbled to experience his father's emotions at this moment. Dad was pleased and relieved but most of all, fatherly love flowed out and through Dean. He could stand there all day basking in these warm, safe emotions. When Dad pulled away, it was too soon. One of those meaty, callused hands ran up his back, over his shoulder and up to the back of his head.

"Are you behaving?" Dad asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners and a smile appearing.

"Not really," Dean admitted with a chuckle.

"Good." Dad gave the side of his head a rough push before he dropped in Hank's other armchair. Dad turned those bloodshot eyes on Hank. "If he won't behave for me, he damn well shouldn't for you."

Dean rolled his eyes as he sat. "You are planning on telling me what you've been up to? After you've had some sleep?"

Dad nodded and stifled another yawn. "Hank said he wanted to talk to both of us."

"Indeed." Hank turned his chair to face both of them. "John, please tell Dean where you went. And I don't mean while you were hunting."

Dad made a grumbling noise into his palm before looking Dean in the eye. "Your brother is fine."

"Sam?" he asked tentatively. Then his hopes fell abruptly as a dull pain flared in his left side. "You dropped by Stanford to check up on him, not talk to him. Right?"

"John?" Hank didn't sound, or feel, very happy. "I thought you were going to attempt to speak with your son?"

The dull pain in his left lung sharpened into a hot, piercing stab through his side. Dean tried to hide it, shifting uneasily in his chair and pressing his right hand against it. Gritting his teeth, Dean tried to follow Dad and Hank's conversation, but he couldn't concentrate. Finally he gave up, his focus only on escaping the pain searing his left side.

"Stop," he panted, pushing out of his chair with his left hand.

"Dean!" He found himself shoved back down and staring into Dad's worried gaze. "Son, what is it?"

Fortunately for him, worry drowned out all of Dad's guilt and the horrible pain eased. He could breathe again as the stabbing sensation ebbed. Now he could tell Hank was prodding his side. Dean batted the furry blue hands away.

"I'm fine," he protested.

"What caused it?" Hank demanded. "Was it physical or an emotion?"

Dean patted his side and rolled his eyes at Dad, who was staring at him with a horrified expression.

"Ah. Guilt." Hank shook his head. "John, this is a topic we need to discuss. Dean has come to a decision. Dean?"

"Sit down, Dad," Dean ordered, internally cringing at what could happen if Dad took offense to his tone. Apparently still a little spooked, Dad sat slowly in the other chair.

"What?" Dad demanded. "What is it? What'd I do this time?"

"Dad, there's a lot of...stuff...that happened when I was a kid." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Dean locked gazes with his father, wanting to impress upon the man how serious he was about this. "Some of it, well, a lot of it, may not have been right, or the best thing to happen, but I don't care. It helped make me into the person I am today and, I think, that's a good thing."

Dad nodded slowly, his bloodshot eyes riveted to Dean. He needed another deep breath to continue. "I understand what Sam is mad about, but that's between you two. I don't want any part of it. I just want things between us to be, you know, good." He shrugged. "If you make up with Sam, or don't, that's your problem. Oh." He turned his gaze on Hank. "Sam sent me a letter."

"Really?" Dad and Hank asked at the same time. Dad waited a moment to see if Hank would say any more, then he looked to Dean again. "How'd he find your address? Bobby?"

Dean shook his head, pulling the letter out of his breast pocket. "I sent it to him a couple of weeks ago." He chuckled as he unfolded the single handwritten page. "He doesn't believe I'm teaching. Guess I can't blame him there, huh?"

Aggravation poured out of Dad, which was surprising and kind of nice at the same time. "Don't see why not," he rumbled in a deep voice.

"Stop it, Dad," Dean warned. "This is between me and Sam, not you."

Dad pulled away, his hand dropping but the aggravation remaining.

"But you can read it," Dean offered, holding it out for his father. "It sounds like he's doing good." He chuckled. "He says he doesn't believe I'm teaching for a second, and then he says he hopes I've found my calling, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."

Fresh guilt, enough to make Dean wince and hold his side again, welled up. "Nah, that's okay." Dad shook his head. "This is between you and Sam. I just wanted you to know that I checked up on him and he's fine."

Then, as suddenly as the guilt began, it stopped. Dean glanced down at his pain-free left side in surprise. "Wow," he muttered, "you've really been practicing." He looked deep into his father's eyes. "How long have you been able to do that?" This went a long way to explaining why Dad's guilt usually wasn't as painful as everyone else's.

A new smile, broad and sincere, appeared. "A while." Sorrow leaked out through Dad's emotional wall. "I'll try to be more careful about it. And if I'd known what the guilt was doing to you, I would've talked to him. I will next time."

Dean shrugged. "Like I said, that's between you and Sam."

* * *

"Sam," Melton said, leaning forward on his desk. "I've been studying your brother's letters. In this first one he states the killer bear, this _wendigo_, managed to get the better of **both** of them. I don't believe he was hunting alone. Perhaps this new friend of his, Logan, was there?"

Sam frowned, taking his letter back from the psychology professor. "Did he say that?" he mumbled, eyes scanning the page.

"I only point it out because the source of your panic attacks appears to be guilt over not being available to watch your brother's back, leaving him to perform his job alone." He motioned to the letter. "It looks like he made other arrangements. The injury may have been unavoidable."

Sam frowned as he reread the paragraph Melton had highlighted. It did say the wendigo kicked both their asses. Huh. "Doesn't matter," Sam insisted, tossing the letter back on the professor's desk. "No one knows my brother better than I do. If I'd been there, he would be fine."

"Tell me, Sam," Melton said with a sigh, "is all of your family this stubborn?"

Sam snorted at the question. "Dean and I are nothing compared with Dad."

"All right," Melton replied agreeably. "Let's discuss your father. Tell me about him."

Sam leaned back on the sofa and rolled his eyes. Why was he here again?

* * *

_Dear Sam,_

_Your letter arrived today. It's good to hear from you._

Dean sighed, tapping his pen against his desk. He glanced up at the Tara Benchley **Ghost Ship** poster on his wall. Man, she was hot. He slid Sam's letter around to skim again. Huh, the first thing Sam mentioned was the wendigo hunt, like he might be worried. According to Hank, his little brother was real worried. Well, he couldn't have that.

I_ guess I shouldn't have mentioned the wendigo. It wasn't that bad. If you're worried about me, don't. I'm fine. Really. Logan and I run a few miles a day, plus regular sessions in the work out room and sparring matches. This is probably the best shape I've ever been in my whole life._

_You have a new scholarship? Really? Dude, that's awesome. I mean it. I'm sure you deserve it. Don't blame me if you don't remember applying for it. Knowing you, you applied for every frigging scholarship in existence, so don't be surprised one came through that you don't remember._

He considered mentioning Adam but it didn't feel right. Not in a letter.

_Things are going pretty well here now. We had to put a supernatural lock-down on the place, but so far so good. Oh, the Institute just had their first Parent's Weekend. It actually went pretty well, only one incident. One of the kid's parents couldn't come, so he decided to run away. Go figure, huh? Kids. I don't think either of us was ever that stupid. Then again, if we had tried that, Dad would've kicked our asses._

_Speaking of Dad, there's another new thing I should tell you. That fight you and Dad had? It was between you two and it's staying there. For a long time I blamed myself, thinking if I had done or said something that you wouldn't have stopped talking to me. Then I realized that it's just the way you and Dad are. In this family I'm the one who's different._

Dean had to stop writing at this point. He read over his letter, realizing how much truth there was in it. He was the one who was different, always had been. Not Sam. Sam was the one like Dad. Why couldn't he see that before? Here he was, modeling himself after his father, right down to wearing Dad's old leather jacket every chance he had, but it was Sam who was most like Dad. Sam who resisted, argued, pushed and aggravated until Dad was ready to pull his hair out. Yeah. They _were_ just alike! How many of Dad's friends had been driven off or driven them off, sometimes at the end of a gun? And Sam was the exact same way. Hell, no wonder they couldn't get along.

_I don't want you to feel like you have to write to me or talk to me. If you want to, that's fine. If you don't, well, I have some new friends. I'm not alone. But I'm not going to argue about Dad. Dad and I have been through a lot lately and it's been hard, but we're working on it. And guess what? What goes on between me and Dad? It's staying between me and Dad._

_Well, here's hoping you still want to talk to me. I'm not lying about being an instructor either. These kids are really something else. You know, maybe you're right. Maybe I have found my 'calling.' I'm really enjoying it here. I think I finally found a place where I belong._

_Dude, close your mouth. Don't you have some studying to do?_

_Dean_

Feeling strangely satisfied, Dean folded his letter carefully and slipped it into the addressed stamped envelop waiting on the corner of his desk. He was halfway through his first week of Myths and Legends. It was going much better than he had expected. Since they allowed some time between announcing a demon was after them and starting the class, most of the kids had accepted the supernatural as fact. Dean began the very first class by explaining they would be covering methods the kids could use to protect themselves, friends and family. That grabbed their attention, thankfully. The next day had been cake in comparison. Honestly, the intensity some of the kids listened to him was rather frightening but Hank had assured him it was a good thing, that it meant he had captured and was holding their attention.

If the week kept going this well, Dean planned to treat himself to a night out either Friday or Saturday. Hell, maybe both. Who knew just teaching some stupid class would be so demanding and take so much freaking time? He needed a few days off.

* * *

Friday afternoon, after another harrowing therapy session, Sam removed a white envelope with a familiar script across the front. Another letter from Dean. Good. His breathing was easier as he practically ran into his place. Sam couldn't wait to find a steak knife. He tossed the rest of the mail, mostly junk, on the table as he tore one end of the envelope open. He shook out the contents, a single handwritten page. Damn. Somehow Sam had been hoping for more.

He resisted the urge to just skim it and settled on the sofa to read each and every word. As he read his brother's careful and precise script, Sam relaxed more and more. Maybe Dean really was all right. He sounded good and claimed to be in the best shape of his life. Sam hit the part where Dean denied knowing about his scholarship and scoffed aloud. Dean probably put his name in for it when his brother started working there. With a shake of his head Sam kept reading. The next part was about Parents' Weekend, so Sam wouldn't have to pretend not to know about that. Then there was a whole paragraph about Dad.

While normally Sam would expect at least a paragraph of admonishments about Dad, he was not expecting this. When he reached the part about how he shouldn't have to feel like he had to write or talk to his own brother, Sam's spine stiffened and his hands began to shake, rattling the paper. With a strong swallow against the lump forming in his throat, Sam forced his eyes to keep reading. Dean and Dad having hard times with each other? What the hell had been going on since he left? Since when had Dean ever talked back or argued or anything? How could things be difficult between them?

'_here's hoping you'll still want to talk to me_'

Sam let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. Dean wanted to talk to him. And still claimed to be teaching kids? Yeah, right. That'd be the day.

'_Dude, close your mouth_.'

Sam snapped his jaw closed. Now how the hell could Dean have predicted that? Sometimes, occasionally, he did miss having someone around who knew him so well. And the rest of the time? The rest of the time he liked the fact no one around him knew him that well. When no one knew him very well, Sam could be anyone he wanted to be: outgoing college student, shy bookworm, party animal.

Dean teaching kids? How was that possible? Sam was tempted to call up that institute and warn them about what his brother was really like. Then he saw the admonishment to go back to studying.

With a chuckle, Sam folded the letter to stuff into his breast pocket. He could read it again later, after he finished studying for the day. For the rest of the afternoon, Sam would pat the letter in his pocket from time to time, to assure himself it was still there.

He was reading it for the fourth time, still puzzling over how highly Dean seemed to regard this Logan character, when Jess showed up for their date. Instead of setting the letter aside, Sam put it back in his pocket. He felt better keeping Dean's assurances close even while out on a date with the beautiful Jess. It seemed a shame to have to wait a week to share it with Professor Melton.

The next morning Sam read his letter again. The more he read it, the more he believed Dean was all right. He wondered if Bobby made it home yet.

Sam pulled out his cell to call Bobby's number, fully expecting it to ring and ring.

"Yeah?" the familiar gruff voice answered.

"Bobby?" Sam asked, astounded the phone was actually answered. "Is that you?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah, it's me," Sam replied a little sheepishly, realizing he had not called Bobby since the fight with Dad.

"Sam! How the hell are ya, boy?" Bobby sounded cheerful and upbeat, much to his relief.

"Oh, uh, not bad," Sam hedged. "So you and Dean, um, got whatever was after the Xavier Institute?"

Bobby sighed. "Not exactly. According to your daddy, it's a real powerful demon. The best we could do for now was try to protect the place. So have you been talkin' to that stubborn brother of yours?"

Bobby sounded so hopeful Sam's throat threatened to close up. "Not exactly," he admitted. "We've been writing letters."

Bobby sighed again. "Well, at least it's sumthin'."

"You've seen Dean? Recently?" Sam pressed. He wanted a straight answer here, not more platitudes from Charles Xavier or Dean.

"He's fine, Sam," Bobby replied sternly. "Why? What'd he tell ya?"

"About a wendigo that kicked his ass," Sam told him. "How bad was it, Bobby?"

A low groan sounded through the phone. "Tol' you that, did he? I'd be willin' to bet my last dollar he didn't mean to."

"Bobby..." Sam's frustration came back in full force, along with a tightness around his chest. He felt around in his backpack for the bottle of little magic pills.

"Oh, relax Sam. He's fine. Now. The damn thing punctured a lung. It's a good thing my old buddy Logan was there to carry 'im out of those woods, or we woulda lost 'im. Then again," Bobby continued thoughtfully, "if Logan hadn't been there, Dean would've been able to call in reinforcements, so maybe it just wasn't his time."

"W-why couldn't Dean call for more reinforcements?" Sam demanded. "Bobby, what the hell is going on with my brother?"

"Sam, I think of you and your brother like family. You know that, right?"

Why did he not like the sound of this? "Yeah," Sam replied slowly.

"I ain't breakin' Dean's new rules," Bobby said in a stern tone. "That's about all I c'n tell ya, Sam. I don't wanna be in trouble like your daddy."

"In trouble?" Sam repeated. He had the pill bottle in his hand but it was still unopened. "How is Dad in trouble?"

"With your brother," Bobby replied. "I never seen Dean do mad before, Sam, and I don't plan on it happenin' again."

Dean? Mad? "At Dad or you?" Sam asked, unable to imagine either. His hand clutching the pill bottle rested on the table.

"Both," Bobby said heavily. "Your daddy and I, well, we kind of got into a disagreement while we was workin' on that school. Let's just day Dean didn't take too kindly to the interruption."

"How?" The tightness around his chest forgotten, Sam listened with a morbid fascination to Bobby's story.

"I ain't been yelled at like that since my daddy was alive," Bobby replied, but he sounded more amused than anything. "And it ain't like we didn't have it comin', behavin' like a couple of damn idjits."

"Dean yelled at Dad," Sam repeated slowly, not believing his own ears. Comments from Dean's letters about Dad and Bobby not 'allowed' to act on anything he sent filtered in slowly. "Dad did yell back."

"Nope." Bobby sighed again. "Sam, I wish I could explain. I really do. But I can't. If you want to know what's really going on, you'll either haveta figure out what kind of school that institute really is, or ask Dean. Now I got to go. Customer."

"Yeah," Sam replied weakly. "Thanks, Bobby."

"But Sam? Don't be such a stranger, huh? Give an old hunter a call once in a while, so I know you're alive."

Same old Bobby. "Sure. No problem," he promised, wondering if he would call again. Only after hanging up did Sam realize he had not given Bobby his number. Well, it wasn't like he changed it, either. Bobby could call him. And Sam would answer.

He set the pill bottle down on the table before cracking open one of his textbooks but he couldn't concentrate. Dean yelled at Dad and Bobby. On the one hand, Sam would pay to see that. On the other hand, when Dean lost it he tended to really lose it and that was never fun. Sam wondered if he should walk by Professor Melton's office to see if he happened to be working on a Saturday. Well, either way, he had a letter to write.


	41. Chapter 41: Bad Date

Chapter 41: **Bad Date**

The first week of Myths and Legends was over, and he had survived. Joe had even stopped complaining about his punishments, which were numerous and involved an awful lot of running. This morning the brat actually seemed to enjoy running with him and Logan. But for now, it was time to party! Dean had to duck Hank's weekly poker game, and he felt a little bad about that, but he really needed to leave the school grounds. The walls were starting to close in on him. There was a bar a couple of miles away he'd had his eye on. It was high time to try it out.

* * *

She was hot and they both had a few drinks too many. It was freaking perfect. They walked arm in arm from the bar to the motel across the street, laughing and groping each other. He totally still had it. He paid for a room for the night from the office while she practically mauled him right in front of the night clerk. The dude didn't bat an eye as he handed over the room card key.

Dean led her to their room, allowing her her remove his jacket and outer shirt before they reached the right door. She 'mmmm'-ed appreciatively, caressing his bare arms as he unlocked the room. This was shaping up to be an awesome night. Dean wondered if she would be game for drawing this out a few days. Oh, hell, he had class on Monday. Well, maybe she would go for the whole weekend. Or next weekend? Yeah. He would still be around. This teaching gig just sounded better and better all the time.

"What's your name again?" he asked as he pushed the door closed behind them.

"Shhhh," she whispered. "No talking." She felt annoyed when she said that. Then she pressed her body against his and the annoyance faded.

Now wait just a damn minute. Dean grabbed her by the shoulders and peeled her off of him. "I said, what's your name?"

The annoyance flared again. "Does it matter? I'm here. You're here." One of her hands traveled sensually from his neck down his chest. "Let's enjoy ourselves."

He stared at her for a long moment. "You mean, all you want is sex. Right?" Meaning: one night, no weekend, no next weekend.

Her smile reappeared, cold and calculating. "Right. And now that we're on the same page..."

"You don't remember my name, do you?" Dean asked as she pressed up against him again.

She sighed heavily and irritation and annoyance filled the room, although this time Dean knew it wasn't all from her. She turned her head to look up at him. "You're better looking when you're quiet."

He glared hotly at her. "And you're a lot nicer to be around when you pretend to give a damn." He pushed away to grab his shirt and jacket from the floor.

"Wait a minute!" she snapped. "It's late and you were the best looking guy in that bar. I have a reputation around here!"

"You have one in here, too," Dean snapped back. His irritation was out of control, he could not help the words flying out of his mouth and he didn't give a damn. "Try cold blooded bitch."

He slammed the door behind him when he stepped out. Storming back to his car, he gave the bar a last glance before falling behind the steering wheel. "Using me," he growled as he fired up the motor. "Freaking bitch was just using me. Didn't give a damn."

The tires left rubber on the pavement as Dean pulled on to the street to race for the safety of the Institute. He needed to talk to Hank.

* * *

"I don't get it!" he complained, pacing back and forth in Hank's office. "Are they all like that? I mean, I've slept with a lot of women. A lot." He paused in his pacing, his mind attempting to come up with a round figure. "A lot." Dean looked at Hank. "But I gave a damn. Still do. I mean, if one of them called for help, I'd go. You know? Even if I didn't remember her."

"Hunter," Hank said calmly, "clearly you are quite upset. Please sit." He gestured to Dean's favorite armchair. Dean felt a short stab of guilt that Hank was in his robe, roused from a decent night's sleep. He should've waited until morning. But honestly, it didn't occur to him until this second. Nah, it couldn't wait.

Dean glared at the chair for a moment before sitting. Hank felt real calm, which was the only reason Dean listened to him right now. "Well?" he demanded.

"Hunter, will you allow me to ask a couple of questions?" Hank asked, one hand smoothing over the disheveled blue fur on top of his head.

Dean nodded reluctantly.

"Until you came here, you led a very nomadic life. Isn't that correct?" Hank asked.

Dean nodded again.

"What is the longest you can recall staying in one place?" Hank picked up a pen off of his desk and looked expectantly at Dean.

Dean shrugged. He couldn't see where something like that would matter. "I don't know. Couple of months."

Hank's pen remained in the air as his eyes scoured Dean. "The longest you know you stayed in one place, before taking this position with the Institute, was a couple of months? Are you quite certain?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. That sounds about right. You can check with Dad if you want."

"I may," Hank replied slowly as he wrote on the notepad. "Tell me, do all of these women you have, ah, _encountered_, have something in common?"

"Yeah," Dean said slowly, wondering if Hank had gone dense all of a sudden. "They're women."

Hank's eyes closed and the blue fur on his brow wrinkled. "Aside from gender." Dean expected to sense irritation with that kind of reaction, but Hank was just as calm as ever. If anything, Dean suspected the low level of emotions coming from Hank were self-recriminating, or a weird form of guilt. "Is there a common trait? Hair color? Eye color? Laugh?"

He had not thought along those lines before. "Well," he replied slowly, "all I can think of is they always, you know, noticed me." Dean shrugged.

A light sigh came from Hank as well as a short burst of sadness. Weird. Considering the late hour, he ought to be aggravated. Dad would be.

"Please correct me if I am wrong, but here is what I suspect. During your nomadic life, you were attracted to anyone who appeared to like you. Now that your abilities are fully active you can tell, for a fact, if the woman in question likes you or is only pretending." Hank's chin rested in his palm, his elbow propped on the arm of his chair. "Most likely you have been fooling yourself into believing all of these woman liked you for more than mere physical attraction."

Dean's eyes bugged out. "They're all like that?" he shouted, not quite able to mask his horror. People were frigging scary.

The sense of self-incrimination increased. "I did not say that. I am certain some of them truly liked you and would be most pleased to see you again. However, I am just as certain some were like the woman from tonight, who only care about the moment and making the most of an opportunity."

Dean crossed his arms defensively over his chest and glared long and hard at Hank. "What makes you think any of them really liked me?"

Those wicked sharp white teeth appeared when he smiled. "Simple. You are a very likable person. It is unimaginable for none of them to have liked you."

Dean relaxed at the sincerity in Hank's voice and emotions. Plus, it did make sense. He was likable. "So you don't think all of them were just...using me."

"No." Hank made a note before looking up at him again. "However, you are now in the enviable position of knowing when someone is trying to use you."

Dean allowed his arms to drop from his chest as he rolled his eyes. "It was freaking easier when I could pretend they liked me."

"Pretend?" Hank asked, his brow all wrinkly again. "You mean you never believed they liked you?"

Dean groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Had he really said that? "I freaking hate therapy."

* * *

Elizabeth Darling, more commonly known at the Xavier Institute as The Librarian, sat within the information booth watching the school's newest instructor glare at a bookshelf. He looked so...lonely. She could identify with that.

Her coworker, Julie, rolled the other chair next to hers. "He's cute," she whispered.

Elizabeth shrugged.

Julie nudged her arm. "Oh, come on. Don't think I didn't notice you used all of your breaks during the construction to go out there and watch?"

Elizabeth pulled a stack of books which had not been checked back in towards her. "Lots of people went out to watch," she replied stiffly.

"But not all of them went out to watch the foreman," Julie giggled.

She felt heat creep into her face and Julie laughed at her. "I thought so." Julie poked her. "So go talk to him."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm sure we have nothing in common."

Julie gave her a funny look. "Just because he's cute doesn't mean he can't have a brain. Give him a chance."

"But-but I-I didn't mean..."

"You can be such a educational snob," Julie told her with a sniff.

"No I'm not," Elizabeth snapped back.

"So talk to him," Julie replied with a sly grin. Manipulative witch.

"Fine," she growled, pushing up from the desk. "You can finish checking in all the books."

"Happy to." Julie beamed at her. "Libby."

Some people were too nosy for their own good. Or anyone else's, for that matter. Outside the circular information desk, Elizabeth paused for a moment. She needed a reason to talk to him. Last time she had approached him was because he appeared so lost and puzzled. This time he looked angry and brooding. She would need a good ice-breaker, but all she knew were books. Elizabeth snapped her fingers and rushed off. She knew just the thing and it should have arrived this morning.

Two minutes later Elizabeth approached Hunter with two books in hand. She really hoped this would not end in disaster. His regular visits to her library were the highlight of her workday.

* * *

Dean glared at the opposite shelf of books, irrationally blaming them for his foul mood. The fault laid with him, of course. Well, him and the cold-blooded bitch. People had walked by him several times since he sat down but none stayed. He couldn't blame them. Who would want to be around anyone in this mood?

A throat clearing from close-by attracted his attention. Dean turned his head to find Libby standing awkwardly off to the side holding some books. He glanced around to see whose attention she wanted, but there was no one else right here.

"Yes?" he asked, trying not to sound as pissed off as he felt.

A hesitant smile appeared. "Uh, well," she began before swallowing hard. Libby held up the books in her hands. "I wanted to show you these."

She walked up briskly, all business, to set the books in front of him on the table. After she pulled out the chair next to him, Libby pointed out the top book. "I thought this could help out in your new class. It has an excellent definition section. You would have to read it over for accuracy, of course, I have no idea about that, but I thought it could provide a good basis for the instruction manual we were talking about."

Dean stared for a moment, not processing her statement. This was about his class?

"Two days ago?" she prompted. "When you asked me to help you find more descriptive chapters on demonology for your course?"

Oh. That's right. "Yeah, okay," he sighed with a shrug. "I'll take a look at it. Thanks. What's the other one for?"

A smile appeared and he sensed excitement from her. "I noticed you've been reading the cinematography books, so I ordered this from a university we have borrow and loan agreements with."

"For me?" Dean asked, shoving the top book on demonology aside. "But why would you..." His voice trailed off when he saw the cover of the second book. It was about special effects and make-up for the monsters in the movies. "Awesome."

A wave of pleased emotions washed over him. "So you like it?"

Dean tore his eyes away from the book to look at her. Libby wore a sweet smile and those pretty eyes were focused only on him. "Yeah," he heard himself say as he attempted to filter through her emotions. There were none he usually linked with deception, or any that would match the bitch from last night. "I like it."

Her smile spread wider. "Good. Well, uh, I guess I should go back to work. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Sure," he replied, even though he had not asked for this. Nervousness encased her as she stood and gave him a small wave before rushing back to the information desk.

"Huh," he muttered, pulling the movie monster book closer. "I wonder what made her do that. Maybe she likes me."

Likes me? Dean froze, the book grasped tightly in his hands. For _**real**_? Uh-oh. Dean scooped both books up and hurried to the check-out. Once the cards had been stamped and removed from the books, he raced outside and for his room. Dean needed a little time right now where none of the students could overhear the phone conversation he wanted to have.

He burst into his room and tossed the books on his desk. Dean whipped out his cell phone and pressed the third speed dial number. He waited anxiously while it rang.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.

Dean cringed. Damn it. "Uh, hey, Kate. It's Dean. Is Adam home?"

"Dean! So good to hear from you. I understand my administrator is talking to your Professor Xavier and the headmaster, so hopefully we'll have you out the first of the year. Isn't that good news?"

Dean resisted the urge to groan. "Yeah. Great. Really. Uh, is Adam there?"

"Well, I know I heard him a few minutes ago. Hang on. Maybe he's playing outside, I'll check."

"Thanks." Dean paced his floor nervously while he waited, ears straining for the sounds of Adam coming to the phone. He heard the front door open and Kate yelling for Adam. Next Adam's voice yelled back that he was coming and Dean felt a surge of relief.

"Dean? Are you still there?" Kate asked.

"Still here," Dean assured her.

"Adam's coming. When we work out the details for your seminar, you do know we're planning on you staying here, don't you?"

Dean had to smile at her courtesy. "Sure, Kate. Looking forward to it."

"Good. Oh, here's Adam."

"Hello?" Adam sounded slightly breathless.

"Playing ball?" Dean asked conversationally.

"Dean!" Adam said. "It's not Sunday. What's up?"

"Uh, well..." Crap! Now what was he supposed to say? "Wasn't I supposed to call to see how your date went?"

"But we already... I mean, yeah. You were. Hang on." He heard Adam's voice in the background. "Guys, it's my brother. I'll catch up with you later!"

"I can call later, if you're busy," Dean protested. He didn't want to be a pain-in-the-ass burden.

"Nah, we were just screwing around out front," Adam replied. "So what did you want to hear about first? Picking her up? Sitting together in the theater? How we held hands for at least half the movie?"

Dean grinned and sat with a bounce on his bed. "Sure, kid. But first, why did you ask her out? I mean, how did you know she liked you?"

"I didn't know for sure," Adam replied, "until she said she'd go."

Damn.

"What's her name?"

"Huh?" Dean asked, startled.

"The girl you're thinking about asking out," Adam said. "What's her name?"

"When did I get to be so freaking transparent?" Dean demanded, taking out some of his frustration on the one person who deserved it least.

Fortunately for him, Adam just laughed. "She does have a name, right?"

Dean growled low under his breath. "Libby."

"I take it you're looking to date her for more than a week?" Adam asked.

"You know, you're a little too smart to be thirteen," Dean snapped.

Adam chuckled again. "Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment from the king of all smart-asses."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You've been talking to Dad."

"And you sound like you need to eat," Adam told him. "Dad says you're carrying some kind of snack around."

He fumbled with his shirt pocket to retrieve a few mini-chocolate bars. Those seemed to work best for aggravation. He popped a couple in his mouth and waited for the chocolate to start melting.

"'m eating," he mumbled. "Talk."

Adam gave him a brief overview of the big date and Dean started feeling more normal with the focus of the conversation off of him.

"So the movie worked out, huh?" Dean asked. He wondered if the not-so-stuffy Librarian went to the movies. Probably. She was human. All people went to the movies.

"You bet. I'm glad you told me about the popcorn, too," Adam replied. "That worked great. We held hands for at least half the movie."

"Did you ask her out again?" Dean asked, curious.

"Yeah. And I was so smooth about it, I impressed myself," Adam bragged.

"Really?" Dean was intrigued. "How?"

"Well, I just acted like she had already agreed to go out with me again. I asked her if she'd rather go to the movies next weekend or the arcade, because I can't afford to do both. She stared at me for about a second before she said movies and that she'd call to discuss which one we should go see."

"Damn," Dean replied, impressed. "That was good. You got a second date and a guaranteed phone call out of it."

"Yep." Adam sounded rather proud of himself. "So how is that new class of yours coming?"

"Not bad," Dean replied, mentally filing the information away for later use. "The only problem is we have to start out with kind of heavy-duty material first, but I figure we'll be able to get to more traditional myths and legends after winter break."

"Speaking of," Adam said slowly. "I was talking to Dad about you two coming over the holidays. Are you game?"

"Really?" Dean asked. "As in, home cooking, Christmas tree, the works?"

"The works," Adam promised. "Mom goes really overboard with Thanksgiving. It's her favorite holiday. Almost everything is made entirely from scratch."

"Dude, you are so spoiled," Dean replied.

"I know it," Adam said with another laugh. "So you'll come?"

"Yeah. I'd really like that." The most surprising part of that was, Dean meant it.


	42. Chapter 42: Turkey Day!

Originally I had intended to post this a day or two ago, but my laptop died from caffeine abuse. (Spilled coffee - through the USB and power ports - really not good.) However, with a new laptop and modern technology, we were able to retrieve all the data off my old laptop's harddrive. Hurrah!! That being said, on we go with this rather bizarre tale:

Chapter 42 – **Turkey Day!**

"Thanksgivin' is over. You know that?" Logan demanded from the passenger seat. The air outside was crisp and fresh, the sunlight bright even on this autumn day.

"Oh, knock off the Canadian crap," Dean replied dimissively. "You've been in this country how long? And dude, we're talking about home cooking. You can't pass up home cooking."

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, _you_ can't pass up home cookin'. I c'n take it or leave it."

A sneaky grin appeared on Dean's face and he shot a quick look over at Logan. "Would it help if I told you Bobby would be there?"

Logan sat up straighter, purely by reflex. He hadn't meant to do that. "Yeah? So?"

Dean chuckled at him. "Dude, don't even try. You're dying to see him. And you will in about..." He checked his watch. "Five hours."

"Does that mean it's time ta switch drivers?" Logan demanded. "Or ain't that why you drug me along?"

"Grouch," Dean teased good-naturedly, but he pulled off at the next rest stop. After they switched positions, Dean offered him a powerbar. "It'll help with that attitude."

Logan growled, gunning the big car on to the highway. "You're inna good mood," he accused, like it was a crime.

Dean patted his breast pocket. "Got another letter from Sam. It came in yesterday's mail."

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. Sam this and Sam that. He wished the little brat would either start callin' his big brother again or fall off the face of the earth. The one that made Dean stop talkin' about 'im constantly would work best.

"So you gonna read it or do I haveta listen to it crinkle in your pocket all damn weekend?" Logan demanded.

"Dude, I thought you'd never ask." With a wide smile, Dean whipped the paper out of his pocket. "This one starts with Hey Dean. The last one was Hey Big Brother."

"I know," Logan grumbled under his breath. The hard part was knowin' Dean knew exactly how much this irritated him, and the kid insisted on doin' it anyway. Friends. He never needed friends before. What was his problem now?

"Anyway, it says:

Hey Dean,

You found your calling, huh? Honestly, I threw that in there to see if you'd call to yell 'bullshit' at me."

Dean chuckled, slapping the page. "I thought the same thing when I told him I'm teaching now."

"Is this gonna take the whole five hours?" Logan demanded.

"Like you have somewhere else to be," Dean snapped. Logan listened as the kid took a deep breath. Then there was the distinctive rustle of candy being unwrapped.

"You c'n share," he said, sticking out a hand. After another deep breath he had a couple of small chocolate bars slapped in his hand. Logan grinned. There was nothin' like bein' a pain in the ass to get some candy.

"Ready?" Dean demanded after a minute.

"That depends," Logan replied, glancing over. "How much candy you hidin'?"

Now the damn kid laughed and popped him in the shoulder. "Shut up, already." The sound of paper being snapped filled the car. "Okay, where was I? Bullshit? Here we go.

"You're making friends? Now I never thought I'd see that happen. So how did you meet this Logan guy? What's he like? Uh, Logan is a guy, right? Or is this a different kind of friend?"

Dean paused. "Don't worry, I'll set him straight in the next letter."

Logan shrugged. He didn't care. He only hoped he wouldn't have to listen to Sam-this and Sam-that all damn weekend.

"Now you think teaching is your calling. That's amazing. But I'm happy for you, Dean. You deserve more than hunting. Now you have a shot at a real life."

Dean glanced at him. "Guess I shouldn't mention that ghost we took care of the other night, huh?"

"Maybe you should," Logan argued. "Your brother seems ta be gettin' the wrong idea."

Dean sighed deeply, staring at the letter in his hands. "Yeah. Maybe." He drummed his fingers against the armrest in the door, staring out the window.

"Is that it?" Logan asked hopefully after a few minutes.

"Oh, uh, sorry." Dean lifted the paper back up. "I almost forgot to read the good part.

"Dean? I might call you on Thanksgiving. If you don't want to answer, well, I can't blame you, but I thought I'd better warn you first. I talked to Bobby this morning and he seemed to think surprising you wasn't a good idea."

"That's 'cause Bobby ain't stupid," Logan interrupted.

Dean kept reading like he hadn't said a word. "But I want to hear about this teaching job myself. I could always hear it in your voice when you lie, so I want a straight answer. After I talk to you, I'll know whether or not to believe you."

Logan snorted. Loud. He might've dislodged some snot doin' it.

"Yeah, well, the rest is about his classes and the girl he's dating," Dean replied, folding it back up. "What do you think?"

"About what?" Logan demanded. "Him bein' a whiny, prissy little-"

"Logan!" Dean snapped.

"What!" Logan snapped back. "Are you denyin' it? What was all that crap about not knowin' whether to believe ya? Huh? Hell, you ain't never lied to me."

"Oh, like I had so much choice in that," Dean replied in a surly voice. "Besides, this is my little brother. I kind of _want_ him talking to me again."

"Don't see why," Logan mumbled.

"Dude, he's family," Dean replied. "You know, like Dad. And Bobby."

"Bobby?" Logan cast a suspicious glance over. "How is Bobby family?"

"Because he's screwed up enough to get all tangled up in our lives." Dean relaxed in his seat, slumping over to lean on the door. His eyes closed as his head rested against the window. "Sound familiar?"

Logan refused to answer. Damn kid.

* * *

Dean came to when the car slowed and Logan pulled off the highway into the town where Adam and his mother lived. They switched drivers again since Dean knew where he was going.

"Any problems?" he asked with a yawn as he pointed his baby in the right direction.

"Nope," Logan replied, kind of stiff.

"What's your problem?" Dean demanded. "Other than you don't want to be here?"

Logan shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring out the window. Geez, moody much? To look at him, no one would ever guess under that calm exterior so many emotions were charging around unchecked. Dean tried but he couldn't pin down Logan's shifting emotions. He probably needed more practice at identifying them since he couldn't screen out Logan.

The truth was, he knew why he couldn't screen out Dad, Bobby or Logan. He and Hank had talked about it in depth during one of his sessions. It was because he had emotionally bonded himself with them. Who knew freaking empaths could bond? It wasn't like he'd done it on purpose either. It just happened. Funny thing was, even though Dean couldn't screen them out they could hide or suppress their own emotions. Or, like now, let 'em run loose and wild so Dean couldn't figure 'em out anyway.

Could he tell Logan about the bonding? Now that was the real question. It was almost like he was making Logan like him, even though Hank had assured him it didn't work that way. Hank wanted him to, but right now didn't seem like the best time. Maybe later, after some turkey and dressing. Yeah, after food always sounded like a good idea.

He had just parked his car, the engine still running, when Adam barreled out of the house. "That's him," Dean said with a nod of his head.

"Must take after 'is mother," Logan replied. "He ain't as ugly as you and your pop."

Dean chuckled, relieved to be teased. "Thanks."

Without another word, Logan pushed open the passenger door and stepped out. He stretched while Dean grabbed his duffel and Logan's bag.

"Hey, Dean!" Adam shouted, racing around the car. He stopped short of a hug, bouncing on the balls of his feet a few steps away.

Dean swung the two bags to hang over his shoulder and used his free hand to wave Adam closer. The kid moved forward slowly, tentatively. When he was close enough, Dean grabbed him in a one-armed hug. "Hey, kid," he greeted, ruffling the short hair.

Logan shot him a startled look which Dean tried to ignore. Adam hung close, wrapping an arm around his back and walking with him to the door. "You're gonna sleep in my room, because of your bad back. I thought I'd sleep on the floor. We have two couches, I figured Dad and his friend would use those. I'm not sure where Mom wanted to put your friend."

"All I need is a piece o' floor," Logan rumbled.

"Oh," Dean half-turned to catch Logan's eye. "Adam, this is Logan. Logan, Adam. My kid brother."

With a grin, Adam ducked around him to meet Logan. Logan shook the kid's hand like Adam was an adult, which pleased Adam no end.

"Logan? Do you play football?" Adam asked as they walked into the house.

"Adam!" Kate's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Don't start pestering the guests right away!"

Adam sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I been known to throw a ball around," Logan replied. He nodded at Dean. "It's this one I wanna see in action."

An unfamiliar emotion tinged all of Logan's, casting a shadow over the others. Dean couldn't identify it but it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Kate strode out to the den to meet Logan. After exchanging formalities with Logan, she shocked Dean when she insisted on giving him a welcome hug and called him 'family'. "I expect to start eating in an hour," Kate announced, "whether or not your father is here."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied readily.

"Good idea," Logan added. "Or he's gonna start in on the furniture."

Kate nodded seriously at Logan. "I'm sure. I've seen him eat before."

Adam laughed. He was in that awkward age, stuck between childhood and being an adult. One minute he talked and sounded more like he was twenty, and then he would burst out laughing like a little kid. Dean preferred the complete kid-like abandon Adam had when he played and laughed. The kid craved having a big family and now, all of a sudden, he had relations who showed up for the holidays. He remembered the few times they had gone to Bobby's for the holidays and what a relief it had been. Dean supposed that was just a fraction of what Adam was feeling now.

Dean rolled his eyes, figuring it was safer to keep his mouth shut. He ought to be able to wait the hour until they ate, but his stomach complained about that time. Dean shot a look at Logan. "When was the last time we stopped to eat?"

Logan frowned and scratched at his cheek. "I reckon it was that diner..." His eyes widened. "Uh, you do got some of them energy bars on ya, right? You was sleepin' so hard I forgot to stop."

Dean whipped out a couple of the bars as he dropped down on the couch. "Is your new girlfriend coming by today?" he asked Adam.

Kate smiled as she left the room, allowing them room for guy talk.

Adam shook his head and rushed to sit next to Dean on the couch. "She has a bunch of relatives coming in today. She might come by tomorrow, if you're still around."

"If I'm still around?" Dean asked before shoving a powerbar in his mouth.

"So she can meet you?" Logan informed him sarcastically. "God, you can be thick."

Adam frowned and jabbed a thumb in Logan's direction. "Who is he again?"

Dean held up both hands to ward them off until he could chew and swallow so he could talk. He turned to Adam. "First, why won't she come see you if I'm not here? And second, lay off Logan. He's a friend of mine."

Logan snorted but felt pleased by the comment. Good. Dean still had to drive back with the pain in the ass.

"How good of a friend?" Adam demanded. There was a fresh flood of the same sour taste, only this time it came from Adam and Dean knew what it was. Perfect. Like he wouldn't have enough to deal with after Dad arrived without Adam and Logan being freaking jealous of each other. And over him? His life just grew stranger by the day.

"Hold on," Dean stated in a loud, clear voice. "Let's get a few things straight here. Logan, we're here to visit Adam, because he's my little brother and he invited us. Adam, Logan is here because he's my friend and..." Dean almost added that Logan was like family, but it didn't feel quite right. He opened his mouth to add that he needed a second driver in order to make it here in less than two or three days, but that didn't feel right either. Those weren't really the reasons for wanting Logan along.

"And I didn't want my best friend to be alone on Thanksgiving," Dean finished. "Even though he thinks we celebrate it late."

"You do," Logan muttered, but there was no heat in his tone and the sour emotion no longer shadowed everything else Logan was feeling.

"Oh." Adam shrugged, his head tilting to one side. His feelings of jealousy dropped away too. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. Is he coming for Christmas too?"

"We're invited for Christmas?" Dean asked, astounded.

"Well, duh," Adam replied. "I said we were inviting you for the holidays. Did you think that only meant one?"

"Yes. I did," he admitted.

Logan chuckled and shook his head. "Thick."

Dean shot his friend a glare. "Watch it, or I'll leave your grumpy ass behind next time."

"Promise?"Logan growled, trying to maintain his aloofness and failing miserably.

"Sounded like a threat to me," Adam added, a broad grin spreading. "So you are coming?"

"Now I see watcha mean about 'im bein' a pest," Logan told Dean.

"Hey!" Adam slugged Dean hard enough in the shoulder to sting a little. "I'm not a pest!"

Dean rubbed his shoulder like it actually hurt. "Ow," he whined. "You've been working out."

"Yeah, I have," Adam replied, pleased Dean had noticed. "As a matter of fact..." His voice trailed off as Dean grinned. "You-you're teasing me? That was a joke?"

Dean allowed his grin to widen into a full blown smile. Adam continued to sputter incoherently until Dean grabbed him by the back of the neck just above the shoulders, right above where the energy built up in his own back, to toss the kid to the floor. He followed a second later, enjoying the impromptu wrestling match immensely. Dean hadn't done anything like this since Sam was, well, Adam's age. He could take and pin Adam down at any time, but Dean let the kid think he could get the upper hand.

The front door slammed open and a deep voice bellowed, "Happy Thanks-" Heavy workboots stomped across the floor to stop beside them. Dean and Adam froze in position, heads turning to look up at the intruder.

"Hi, Dad," they said together.

Dean laughed at the utter shock on his father's face and in his emotions while Adam scrambled to his feet. He propped himself up on his elbows while Adam hugged Dad hello. Then Dad stood over him, a towering giant glaring down, which was at complete odds with the overwhelming gooey feelings flooding the room. Finally a hand reached out, which Dean grasped. He was pulled up on to his feet and into a massive bear-hug.

When he pulled away, both of Dad's hands grabbed his head and forced him to look his father in the eye. "How are you doing, son? Any more black-outs?"

"Nah, I'm good, Dad. Honest." He nodded in Logan's direction. "I even brought my regular sitter."

Dad's expression soured as he looked at Logan and a short burst of irritation shot through the gooeyness, but it was brief. "Logan," Dad said politely with an incline of his head. "Good to see you."

Logan nodded just as politely at Dad. "Same here, Winchester."

"Hey, what am I over here? Raw liver?" Bobby demanded, feeling isolated and left out. Dean hadn't even noticed his old friend walk in.

"Bobby!" Dean practically pushed Dad out of the way to grasp the older hunter in the kind of hug he hadn't given anyone but Dad in nearly ten years. Dean was rewarded with those humbling feelings of pride, belonging and family. "Dude, I brought you an early Christmas present." He gave Bobby a shove in Logan's direction.

"Hey, rookie," Logan greeted warmly, with an outstretched hand.

"Good to see ya, Logan," Bobby returned just as warmly. "How're you holding up?"

Logan dropped Bobby's hand to shrug and make a sour face. "Oh, about as well as you c'n expect, considerin'."

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to Adam. He slung an arm around his kid brother to hustle them both out of the line of fire. "Let's go see if your mom needs any help in the kitchen."

Adam grinned at him. "You're planning on taste-testing everything, right?"

Dean gave the kid a knowing wink. Yep, this kid was too damn smart.

* * *

After a huge Thanksgiving dinner Xavier-style at the Institute, the only thing lacking being the presence of his favorite instructor, Bobby Drake rested comfortably in bed. His eyes slid closed and he drifted off into peaceful slumber.

A serene dream of the arctic circle with huge lumbering polar bears caused a smile to spread across his face even sound asleep. So much beautiful glorious ice glittered across the landscape, shining like rich jewels in the bright sunlight. He squinted against the blinding sunshine at an anomaly on the horizon. It was a darkness in the otherwise shimmering world. Curious, Bobby headed for it, his boots sinking deep into the fresh snow with each step, delicious cold encasing his feet.

Although he did not walk fast, the darkness on the horizon grew larger with each step. Soon it was right in front of him, a swirling mass of black and gray smoke. Where there was smoke there was usually fire. Bobby looked around at the amazing frozen wildlands surrounding him. How could there possibly be fire here? He wanted to check it out, worried there might be someone trapped inside, but at the same time it scared him. Bobby stopped moving toward it but the fire kept coming to him.

Not good. Not good. Not good! He turned away in an attempt to run, then more smoke and dark red and orange flames sprang up in front of him. Bobby was surrounded on all sides. He looked down at where his feet should be encased in snow. Instead his feet stood barefoot on a wood floor. He felt eyes watching him. Bobby lifted his head slowly to find a pair of bright yellow eyes staring at him from the flames.

With a gasp Bobby jumped awake. Unable to shake the feeling of being watched, Bobby raced to his window. His room was on the side of the building which faced the street. From his window he and his roommate could watch cars passing by, oblivious to the mutants living right here. It always gave Bobby a feeling of security to know so many mutants could live in the middle of regular humans undetected.

Across the street far outside the range of the large symbol protecting the school stood a man. He stood at the corner under a streetlight but his features were shrouded in darkness. After waving, like he knew Bobby was watching, the man turned around to walk away into the night. He had been too far away to see for sure, but Bobby could swear the man had glowing yellow eyes.

Crap. He took out the small silver charm on a chain from the top drawer of his dresser and slipped it around his neck. Bobby stuck it under his shirt, drawing comfort from the feel of the cold metal against his skin. It was a good thing he didn't have any classes tomorrow because Bobby sure wouldn't be sleeping any more tonight.


	43. Chapter 43: A Good Day

Happy New Year!! May 2010 bring you all more happiness than 2009. And now, the much awaited and anticipated phone call - as promised.

Chapter 43: **A Good Day**

For one of the few times since his mutant gene became fully active, Dean was full. He felt bloated, engorged with delicious foods. Sighing happily, he looked across the table at Dad.

"This was a great idea," he told his father.

Dad chuckled and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I'm going to help clean up. Any other volunteers?"

"I'd help with the leftovers, but I'm stuffed," Dean complained.

Dad waved for him to stand. "Then you can put them away. It'll make 'em easier to find during one of your midnight snack raids."

"Come on, Dean. I'll show you where everything goes," Adam offered.

Reluctantly Dean stood, figuring he might topple over from being so top-heavy. Amazingly, his feet remained underneath him. Dean moved slowly to the kitchen, following Dad and Adam, until his phone went off. The sudden reminder that Sam would be calling seemed to pierce the house.

"Oh, uh, I gotta take this," Dean protested, heading for the front door.

"We'll save some dishes for you!" Dad threatened with a grin as he rushed out.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he muttered, checking the digital display on his phone. Sam. Wow, he really meant it when he'd said he would call. "Hello?"

"You answered," Sam said, complete surprise in his voice. "I-I mean, last time it went straight to voicemail."

"I was in class," Dean replied with a shrug Sam couldn't see. He headed for his car, intending to sit on the trunk while they talked. "How's school?"

"Oh, uh, good. Good. Keeping my grades up, like you said."

Dean chuckled. Yeah, like Sam was doing it because he said so. Sam used to pitch a fit if a teacher dared give him a B. "That's good. How's your girlfriend? What's her name again?" If he could get Sam talking, then he wouldn't have to talk as much. Dean slid on to the trunk of his car to talk.

"Jess. She's great, Dean. I'd, uh, like you to meet her, actually."

"Why? Aren't you afraid I'll hit on her?" Dean teased. "I bet I could steal her from ya, Sammy."

Now Sam laughed, a real laugh, the nervousness fading from his voice. "You can try. I already told her what a flirt you are, so she won't be surprised. Oh, and don't call me Sammy."

"Surprised?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes over the 'Sammy' comment. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

"When you meet her," Sam replied. "Oh, maybe I skipped that part. I'd like you to come here for Christmas."

"Why?" The word was out of his mouth, he couldn't stop this conversation now if he wanted.

"Jess wants to meet you and I want you to meet her. And, well..." Sam's voice trailed off, but there was a big thing behind that 'well'. Dean would bet on it.

"Well what, Sam?" Dean pressed.

"Come on, you know you don't have plans already. Why not come here?" Sam asked, totally avoiding the 'well'.

Oh, yeah. Sam and Dad were exactly alike. Both of 'em were stubborn jackasses.

"Actually, I do have plans," Dean replied stiffly, feeling his new emotional defenses kicking in. Before all of this mutant crap happened, he could take any of Sam's little unintentional insults and barbs right in stride. Now they cut through him, ripped right into his heart. Had to be a freaking girly empath, didn't he? Couldn't be a teek or have laser eyes, could he? No, Dean Winchester had to wear his heart on his freaking sleeve now.

"Who would you have plans with?" Sam's tone was pure astonishment, tearing a fresh wound in his most tender emotional spot. Yeah, and no Hank here to calm him down either.

"Why do you ask?" he said slowly, his irrational anger mounting. Just because he knew it was irrational didn't mean he could control it. "Don't I rate high enough to make plans? Am I a complete loser?"

"What!" Sam's voice squeaked. Like a mouse. Literally; he squeaked. It was the weird, uncharacteristic squeak and the sudden panicked panting from the other end that made Dean stop, his anger back in check. He listened carefully to a thumping noise, like the phone had been set down hastily, and sounds of Sam looking for something. Then it went quiet. Dean checked his phone's display but the call was still live, Sam hadn't hung up on him, so he waited to see what would happen.

The noise of a door closing had Dean's head turning to locate the source. Dad walked purposefully across the yard towards him. Dean lifted a hand in greeting, still waiting on Sam to do something, anything.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was calmer now, non-squeaky.

"Still here," he said in a tight voice. He wanted to add that he didn't know why, he but managed to keep his trap shut. Dad gave him a puzzled look as his father joined him on the trunk of the Impala.

"I-I didn't mean it that way." A deep breath came through the phone. "I, uh, just want to see you."

There still wasn't an explanation of that 'well'. "Why?" Dean tried pressing for an answer again.

The frustrated grunt which followed brought a smile to his face. Then he noticed that there were gooey feelings assaulting his irritation. "I want to be sure you're all right," Sam whispered.

It was all he needed for the gooeyness to win out. Dean grinned broadly and leaned into Dad's side, like a kid. Dad responded by throwing an arm around his shoulders and squeezing, along with a fresh burst of gooeyness. Dean sighed, the irritation quickly being replaced by pure contentment.

"I'm fine, Sam," he repeated what had been in all of his recent letters. "If you don't believe me, will you believe Dad?" Dean quirked an eyebrow at his father and motioned to the phone.

Dad made a sour face as he cleared his throat. "He's fine," he said in a blaring voice, loud enough to reach the phone.

"Dad's there, huh? Maybe I should-"

"Don't you dare hang up on me," Dean snapped, irritation spiraling back out of control. Then Dad's hand pressed between his shoulderblades, massaging that sore hot spot.

"Easy, son," Dad said softly. "He's talking to you again. Don't blow this. I know you, you'll never forgive yourself."

Dean squeezed his eyes closed and listened to his own breathing.

"I wouldn't do that, Dean," Sam replied, not sounding as confident as he had earlier.

"Good." Dean needed a few more breaths before he regained a normal rhythm. Chocolate. He needed freaking chocolate. He fumbled with his front shirt pocket, but it was empty. "Damn it," he muttered.

Both of Dad's hands landed on his shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. "What is it?" he whispered.

"Chocolate," Dean replied.

Dad patted his shoulders. "Be right back." He rushed to the house with the urgency equivalent to needing to take care of a deep flesh wound.

"Chocolate?" Sam asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm out of chocolate," he snapped, like it should be obvious.

"Did you hit your head, too?" Sam asked.

Yeah, okay, maybe he sounded like a crazy person demanding chocolate like that. Dean sighed and ran a hand over his head. "Nah, that would've been better." He forced a chuckle. "At least I would've been unconscious."

"Dean, what happened?" Sam was pleading with him. "How bad were you hurt?"

"Bad enough," Dean admitted. "I told you about the two wendigos, right?"

"Yeah." Sam paused. "And?"

"The second one kicked my ass. I'm telling you, if it weren't for Logan, I woud've been dinner," Dean admitted reluctantly.

"So he's a hunter?" Sam asked. "Must not be very good to let you get hurt like that." Lil' bro sounded kind of bratty, like he was about twelve.

Dean shook his head, wondering where the hell Dad was with that chocolate. "Lay off Logan!" he snapped, then mentally berated himself for joining in acting like an adolescent. "Uh, I mean, he's kind of new to the whole hunting supernatural creatures thing. He's been catching on fast, though."

Sam went dead silent as Dad jogged from the house up to the car. When he opened his hand it was full of miniature chocolate candies in bright holiday wrappers. With a smile of thanks, Dean took all of them. He dumped most of them into his pocket, keeping a couple out. Sam was still quiet when Dean shoved milk chocolate into his mouth, wedging it in his cheek.

"Dude, did you hang up?" he demanded, hoping the chocolate would work its magic NOW.

"No," Sam replied softly. "You're still hunting?"

"Part-time," Dean replied, his voice a little muffled due to the chocolate.

A whoosh of air, like a large sigh, sounded through the phone. "Well, that's a relief," Sam said in his normal voice, much to Dean's shock.

"It is? I thought you were hoping I'd found my freaking calling, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean," Dean replied, the sugar and caffeine of the chocolate not quite doing its job of pushing away that nasty irritable feeling. Dad's hand was on his back again rubbing in large circles, pressing down hard enough to make the hot spot feel better.

"Well, I uh... I thought you'd been hurt bad enough to force you to quit hunting."

Dean rolled his eyes. Not this crap again! "Sam, I told you-"

"If it were true you'd lie about it," Sam interrupted. "If you're still hunting, you couldn't have been hurt that bad. Dean, I'm relieved. You have no idea how worried I've been. I almost came to that Parents' Weekend thing."

His shoulders tensed and his body froze in place. Dad's hands moved to massage his shoulders, shaking him gently trying to force him to relax.

"How could you have known about that in time to come?" he asked slowly, knowing the answer but at the same time not willing to believe it. "I wrote you about it afterwards."

Sam sighed. "I was invited. I guess Mister Xavier really thinks a lot of you, to send mine himself."

"Professor Xavier," Dean corrected his brother. "And how do you know he sent it?"

Dad's massage stopped, his father leaning in to listen. Dean shifted the phone to his other ear and turned it out a little, to make Dad's eavesdropping easier.

"When it came in, I noticed that the address for the Xavier Institute is the same as your new, uh, address. So I called to see if you worked there. As soon as I said my name, the woman who answered the phone put me on hold and the next thing I knew I was talking to Charles Xavier."

Dad grunted and nodded. He mouthed to Dean 'same here.' Dean rolled his eyes. Freaking busybody. You'd think somebody with a whole school of mutants would have better ways of spending his time than meddling with the Winchesters.

"That was your idea, huh? The Parents' Weekend?" Sam asked.

"Well...I..." Hank's voice echoed in his mind – 'don't be afraid to accept validation for your ideas.' "Yeah. It was."

"Wow. Uh, I'm shocked they didn't already have one," Sam said.

"So was I," Dean replied. "But it went pretty well. I think I told you about that already."

"Yeah, you did." The ensuing silence was uncomfortable and strained. "Look, I don't want to keep you, but, uh, I was serious about Christmas."

Dean rolled his eyes, but the irritation did not come flooding back. "Dude, you're west coast. I'm east coast. You know how long it takes to drive across the whole freaking country."

"Then fly," Sam suggested, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"No." What a stupid idea! Fly? Sam was freaking crazy. "Besides, I already have plans. I told you that."

"I could come see you," Sam offered, reverting back to the smaller voice. "I've been budgeting my money, I can scrape enough together for a plane ticket."

Dean shot his father a searching look. They were supposed to be here for Christmas and Sam didn't know Adam existed. Dad took the phone from his hand.

"Come for New Year's," Dad suggested. "We'd both love to see you. I owe Jim a phone call, maybe we can all meet at his cabin, make a weekend of it."

Highly relieved by Dad's simple solution, which eliminated the possibility Sam finding out the true nature of the Institute and the need for him to board an airplane at the same time, Dean breathed out in relief. Plus – Dad and Sam were talking. Now he had wondered if he would live to see this day.

"I have a feeling we all have a lot to talk about," Dad said. "I'll let you and your brother work out the details. All I need to know is when and where. I'll be there." He said the last part while looking Dean right in the eye.

"Thanks, Dad," Dean said sincerely as his father passed over his phone. "So," he said to Sam as Dad headed back towards the house, "New Year's?"

* * *

A few minutes before ten Dean slipped out the front door. Dad and Bobby were arguing loudly about some clunker back at Bobby's place, whether or not it could be restored. Neither was the slightest bit upset either, they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Adam and Kate were trying to talk everyone into just one more round of some silly game they liked. Logan had disappeared someplace by himself about twenty minutes ago. He'd lasted longer than Dean expected.

There was a chill in the crisp autumn night, forcing Dean to zip up his jacket. He glanced around before pulling out his cell. There was just one little phone call he needed to make, someone he wanted to wish a Happy Thanksgiving.

The phone rang so many times Dean figured he had called too late and would wind up delivering his message to an automated voicemail service.

"Hello?" a sweet feminine voice answered.

"Libby?" Dean asked. She sounded different on the phone, more like a regular girl and little less like The Librarian.

"Hunter!" And she sounded excited. This was good, he told himself. "Oh, dear, is everything all right? Do you need some research?"

He grinned into the night. "No, everything is fine. I just wanted to tell you Happy Thanksgiving."

"Really?" Her voice rose a full octave, he'd swear to it. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "Uh, I mean, Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."

"Thanks." Now what? Normally this was the easy part because he usually didn't care too much if the chick shot him down, but he didn't have a back-up plan this time. "I was kind of wondering about something."

"Yes?" Libby sounded hopeful, but she was so nice she was probably just expecting him to ask for more advice.

"Are there any good movies coming out?" Dean held his breath, hoping.

"Well, there is one that starts tomorrow the critics have been giving rave reviews. Why?" she asked.

"Is it a movie you'd like to see?" Dean tried.

"I was thinking of going this weekend," she replied casually, "if Julie makes it back in time to go with me."

He unzipped his jacket, needing the cool air as a strange rush of heat hit him. "Well, if you don't mind waiting until I'm back," he told her, "I could take you."

He closed his eyes, turned his face up to the night sky, and waited. There was a clunking sound. She was so disgusted by him asking her out she threw her phone? Well, he couldn't really blame her. Disappointed but not surprised, Dean started to lower his cell when he heard "Oh, no!" through the phone from a distance. His curiosity winning out, Dean opened his eyes and pressed the phone tightly against his ear.

"Hello? Hunter? Are you still there?" Libby sounded kind of...breathless.

"I'm here," he replied, wondering what all that clunking was about.

"Could you, uh, repeat that, please?" she asked sweetly.

She wanted him to ask her again? "Which part?" he asked. "The part about there being a movie out you want to see?"

"No, no. After that," Libby insisted. "I dropped the phone, so I'm not sure if I heard you correctly."

Dropped the phone? She didn't throw it. His confidence level rose considerably. "If you don't mind waiting until I'm back in town, I'd really like to take you to see that movie," Dean told her honest and simple, just the way he had been rehearsing it in his head on the drive here.

For a split second, he could have sworn there was a schoolgirl squeal from her end. "Yes," she said quickly a beat after the squeal stopped. "That would be wonderful. When?"

"I'd ask you to go tomorrow, but I'm out of town visiting that little brother I told you about," Dean replied.

"That's wonderful," she gushed. "I hope you're having a good time?"

"I am," he said, "but I can't speak for Logan. He disappeared about twenty minutes ago."

"Wow, I wouldn't have expected him to last that long," Libby said with a light laugh.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Dean chuckled with her. "So, next week? We'll probably arrive some time Sunday evening."

"Long drive?" she asked.

"Twenty hours," Dean replied.

"Then you'll need some sleep. What about Monday night? If you think you'll be up to it?" Libby suggested.

"Unless you'd rather wait for next weekend?" Dean asked, rather surprised she wanted to go so soon. Maybe she really, really wanted to see this movie.

"Oh, uh, only if you do," Libby said hesitantly.

"Monday would be great," Dean insisted, now wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Was he trying to delay this date? "Since I'm not there, would you mind looking up the movie times for us?"

"Oh, sure. No problem. Are, uh, we going out to dinner? Or maybe dessert after the film?" Libby replied.

Was she leaving it up to him? "We are definitely going to eat," Dean assured her. "But depending on the show times, we might have to eat there."

"Monday it is," Libby said happily. "You'll call or come by to see me when you're back? So we can talk about, uh, showtimes?"

"Sure." Dean grinned and dragged his foot along the ground, really pleased over how well that went. He was sure that excited schoolgirl squeal was her, that he hadn't imagined it. "I'll see you then."

"Great."

"Yeah. Great." Now what? He couldn't think of anything to talk about. Maybe he should've planned for another topic of conversation. "Uh, well, my dad's probably wondering where I am. See you in a few days?"

"I'm looking forward to it," Libby replied, kind of breathless. "Bye!"

"Bye." Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and glanced around at the serene night.

"Please tell me it ain't that librarian woman." Logan's voice shattered the quiet.

Dean sighed and turned toward the dark form walking toward him. "I wondered where you went."

"Walk. Needed some peace 'n' quiet." He jabbed at the house with the stub of an unlit cigar. "Nice family, but loud. Your pop ain't included in that, by the way."

"He's loud," Dean argued with a grin. "And what's wrong with The Librarian? She's real nice."

Logan snorted, his head shaking as he stepped into the light cast by the streetlamp. "Ain't you never heard her voice? Irritatin'. You c'n do better."

Dean scowled. "Dude, she's too good for me."

"Too smart, you mean," Logan scoffed. "But if that were really true, she woulda told you no."

He felt the grin spread across his face thinking about how excited she sounded. "How long were you listening?"

"Got good hearin'," Logan replied gruffly. "Didn't need it, though. A deaf man coulda heard you from the end of the block."

"I wasn't that loud," Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Don't know why you was worried," Logan told him. "What with the way you collect phone numbers."

"What makes you think I was worried?" Dean demanded.

Logan made a nasty face and waved a hand in front of his face. "My nose don't lie."

"I'll remember that," he promised. Dean nodded towards the house. "Is it safe to go in?"

"Depends." A thin smile wormed its way on to Logan's typically stern face. "Interested in teachin' your new kid brother the finer points of poker?"

"Dude, that sounds like a game where even you might win a hand!" Dean clasped Logan firmly on the shoulder. "Let's go! Man, I hope there's still some of that cherry pie left."

"I'll clear the way 'tween you and the pie," Logan offered, falling into step beside him, "but you gotta save me a piece."

"Deal." Yeah, this turned out to be a really good day.


	44. Chapter 44: Owning Up

Chapter 44 – **Owning Up**

"Dad, you have to tell Adam," Dean argued in a soft voice. They sat in the Milligan kitchen drinking coffee. Dean had the rest of the apple pie in front of him, not really caring if Logan had been planning on another piece.

Dad made a nasty, sour face which matched his feelings on the subject. "Dude, you know what your brother is like." He paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Both of them. If I tell Adam, he'll want to meet Sam. Sam is barely talking to you and I'm shocked he didn't hang up on me last night. No, it's not the right time."

"I don't know how much longer I can keep my mouth shut," Dean admitted, digging into the pie with a large spoon.

"You can keep it shut," Dad scoffed. "Don't hand me that."

Dean rolled his eyes as he chewed through a mouthful of delicious pie. "Don' wanna," he mumbled, his mouth still half full.

He expected a full lecture after that comment, but Dad sighed heavily, leaned forward on the table and thick emotions covered him with a heavy physical weight. Dean swallowed so he could speak clearly.

"Oh, please," he whispered. "This whole mess is your fault to begin with!"

Dad nodded sadly. "I know." The emotions deepened, regret and sorrow weighing heavily on both of them.

Dean grunted, digging out another spoonful of pie. "Come on, Dad." He sipped his coffee. "You promised to see Sam. Now I want you to promise you'll tell Adam. I feel like I'm lying to the kid by not telling him." He shoved the spoonful of pie in his mouth.

"So?" Dad's voice was hard and sharp, but all of his emotions were filled with self-pity.

"Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it," Dean told his father, amazed that the man could be so stupid about this. It wasn't that big a deal. Dad had two sons before Adam. What was the problem in owning up to it?

Dad sighed and slumped in his chair. "Sometimes I think you were easier to deal with when you couldn't tell what I was feeling."

Dean rolled his eyes, scooping up more pie. "I could always tell what you were feeling."

Dad's eyes narrowed him on. "You weren't supposed to admit to that." However, the heavy feelings of self-pity faded. They weren't gone, but were more tolerable.

Dean grunted through his pie. "So?" he asked, throwing Dad's response back.

Both of Dad's hands tapped against the surface of the table. "I think I'd rather wait until after you finish eating," he said slowly. "You're not as irritable."

Dean opened his mouth, still full of pie, to protest when Logan walked in. "Oh, shut it. You know he's right." Logan helped himself to the coffee. He shot Dean a sharp look before taking a fork from the drawer.

When Dean swallowed to clear his mouth, Logan pulled out the chair next to him. His friend dug into the left-over pie in front of Dean while he sat.

"I'm not more irritable before I've eaten," Dean argued.

"The hell you're not," Dad snapped with a brief flare of aggravation. Dean opened his mouth to argue again but Dad's cold glare stopped him short. "I said you needed to finish eating."

"Listen ta your pop," Logan added, one cheek bulging with pie but his emotions just as even as always. "Eat."

Dean knocked Logan's fork away to scoop up more pie. "Gangin' up on me," he muttered.

"'bout time, too," Bobby announced from the doorway. "And there better be some coffee left."

"Serve ya right fer oversleepin'," Logan grunted. "An' find your own food. Dean and me ain't sharin'." He shoved Dean's hand out of the way to stab a large chunk of fruit.

As he prepared his coffee Bobby bumped up against the back of Logan's chair. About four times. The last time color flushed into Logan's face and irritability flooded the room. Dean chuckled loudly and patted the spot across from Logan for Bobby to sit down. With a lingering glare, Bobby sat in the chair with an audible thump.

"Eggs?" Dad asked Bobby conversationally. "Dean needs some protein too."

Bobby gave a sharp nod in agreement. "Lemme know if you need help."

Dad scoffed loudly. "I'm the cook in the family these days." He stood up, his chair making a scraping noise on the tile floor. "Haven't you heard?"

"Good. Don't burn mine," Bobby threw back. He gave Dean a hard look. "Your daddy's cookin' has improved, right?"

Dean grinned, scooping up more pie. "His potato thing is great."

Dad opened the fridge to rummage around inside. "I think Kate used all the potatoes in the mashed potatoes. Hey, I could make potato patties." He began to set out some leftover dishes as well as the carton of eggs.

Bobby grunted and nodded at Dad's back. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Dean chuckled again. "And I'm supposed to be the grumpy one?"

"Never said you were the only one," Dad chimed in without turning around. Bobby's blazing glare at Dad's back was awesome. Dean exchanged an amused look with Logan. This was the best Thanksgiving he'd ever had.

* * *

On the road back to the Institute, Dean tapped the fingers of his right hand on the steering wheel. So far he had managed to avoid his holiday assignment from Hank, but he couldn't put it off much longer. Salem was only a few hours away.

"Uh, Logan?" He shifted in his seat, slightly uncomfortable. "There's something I kind of need to tell you."

A good natured snort came from his right. "I already know about your date." He glanced over to see Logan making a sour face. "Still think you c'n do better'n that woman. She's annoyin'."

"Yeah, well, that's not it." There was that hot spot building between his shoulders again. Dean reached back with his right hand to rub at his neck and as far down his back as he could reach. "Remember when I told you about not being able to screen you out?"

"So?"

He could literally feel the tension in the car increase. "Well, uh, there's a reason for it." Rubbing his neck and upper back wasn't helping, that spot between his shoulderblades hurt like a sonuvabitch. Dean dropped his hand back to tapping nervously against the wheel.

Logan's glare had the intensity of a death-ray. "Just tell me it ain't got nuthin' to do with that librarian woman."

"What?" Dean glanced over, wondering where the hell that came from. "What are you talking about? How would a bond have anything to do with Libby?"

Now surprise leaked through the car. "What do you mean, bond?"

Dean couldn't shrug, he might release that energy building in his shoulders. Passing out while driving would be bad; his car might be damaged. "I'm a stupid empath, Logan. Empaths..."

"Empaths what?" Logan demanded, the death-ray glare back. "It's embarrassin', ain't it? I don't wanna know." He looked out the window.

Dean sighed heavily. "But you have to know. Empaths bond with people they consider..." He took his hand off the wheel to motion between them.

"Consider a good ally?" Logan growled, as if that were the only answer he would accept. If Dean hadn't been an empath, he never would guess at how rattled Logan was at this moment.

"Important, all right?" Dean slammed his hand back on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. All of Logan's emotions seemed to be on pause now. Maybe he'd been practicing with Xavier the busybody too.

"Important how?" Logan asked carefully, his emotions still in limbo. When Dean glanced over, his friend was looking at him curiously, face relaxed and open. Logan never looked like that. Hell, he never freaking acted like that either. It was a little creepy. Check that, it was a lot creepy.

Dean reached back to rub at his neck and upper back again. Crap, his back was freaking killing him. He spotted a small turn-out a little ways ahead and headed for it. It wasn't much for a rest stop, just a little place to pull safely off the road, not even a park bench. He couldn't get out of the car fast enough, desperate to stretch and hopefully relieve the tension in his back.

The stretching helped a little, but when Dean turned to face the car again he found Logan leaning against it watching him.

"You was explainin'," Logan prompted, trademark cigar sticking out of one side of his mouth. "Important?"

Dean groaned, lifting an arm and bending it to reach for the middle of his back. With his free hand, Dean grasped his elbow and pulled, stretching his upper back more. He sought out Logan's feelings but there was still a curious lack of any strong emotion there. Another groan escaped as he pulled harder on his elbow, but this one was of surrender.

"Important to me." Dean closed his eyes, dropped his arms and braced himself for the teasing sure to follow that admission.

A clearing throat made Dean open his eyes. Logan was still looking at him with that curious expression as he pushed off the Impala to stand up straight. "This got sumthin' to do with that best friend comment to your kid brother?"

"Yes?" he replied guiltily.

Logan nodded a couple of times. "How's the back? Seems ta be botherin' you."

"Sore," Dean admitted. "Too much, you know, energy." He twisted from side to side, trying to stretch out that sore spot.

"Don't expect a massage outta me," Logan told him sternly, heading for the driver's door, "I ain't your pop. But I am gonna drive the rest of the way. You look beat."

That was it? Dean stared at Logan as his friend sat down in the car. The sound of the driver's door slamming shut wasn't enough to break his stupor. Then Logan leaned out the window to scowl at him. "Kid, are you comin' or what? We got class in the mornin'."

Slowly Dean walked around to sit in the passenger seat. Were no strong emotions good emotions? Or did it mean Logan just didn't care?

"How's that new class goin'?" Logan asked as he pulled back on the highway.

"All right," Dean replied slowly, unsure what to make of these strange reactions. "The kids don't really like the homework and the stuff I'm making them memorize, but they're not griping."

"Then how do you know..." His voice trailed off and Logan chuckled. "Right, you'd know. How much free time do you got these days?" He glanced over when he asked.

Dean shrugged, really not knowing where this was going. "I don't know. Some. Why?"

"Figured you'd make a good assistant in my hand-to-hand combat class," Logan replied.

"Does this mean we're...good?" Dean asked tentatively.

"The way I figure it," Logan explained in a dead-serious voice, "is you don't get ta pick your family, you're stuck with what you got. But a best friend? To pick one-a them and have him pick you back? I reckon that's got to be better."

Nothing but sincerity and a sense of belonging came from Logan. Dean relaxed in his seat. That went a whole lot better than he thought it would, and he never expected the best friend admission from Logan. He had half expected Logan to take a swing at him for bonding them without permission.

"So what's this bonding crap mean?" Logan asked after they had been driving for a while in comfortable silence.

"Basically that I can't screen you out, but you can suppress your emotions if you want to hide them from me. And I think it gives you a little immunity, makes it harder for me to change your perceptions," Dean explained.

"Is that it?" Logan demanded. "'cause I c'n swear sometimes I don't even need ta look at you to tell how you're reactin'."

Dean considered the question. "I don't know, but if we tell Hank I'm sure he'll come up with a way to test it."

Logan shook his head once. "Forget it. I know what Hank's tests are like. Been through enough of 'em." He glanced over. "Now that we're best buddies, are you gonna become an X-Man?"

He let out a short chuckle. "Do I have a choice?" He must as much sarcasm into it as he could muster.

"Nope," Logan replied flatly.

"X-Man? Is that what you really call yourselves?" Dean asked, surprised. "X-Men?"

"Balls, right?" Logan replied with a chuckle. "You been underestimatin' The Professor."

"Apparently," Dean agreed. "So does this mean I get to see your uniform now?"

Logan groaned. Loud. "Kid, I am never gonna hear the end of it, am I?"

Dean grinned. "Dad's not the only stubborn bastard around, you know."

"I been learnin' that," Logan agreed. "Fine. You join the team, I'll show ya my uniform." He held up his index finger. "One time. That's it."

"Yeah, yeah. Promises, promises. Hey, there's a sign for a drive-in! Pull over!"

* * *

Logan checked himself out in the narrow floor-length mirror. One-a the gals, probably Jean Grey or Storm, put it in here he was pretty sure. He adjusted his mask, making sure the pointy ear things on the sides were even. Between the bright yellow and blue colors, the fact it was skin tight latex, and that he had pointy ears, Dean was gonna have a field day with this. Logan would rather face down a couple-a dozen bad mutants than walk through the door where Dean waited for 'im. One last tug on his blue gloves, to be sure they were straight, and Logan turned to face the door.

If this was what it meant to have a best friend, maybe he didn't need one. Although he would never, ever admit to it, Logan hesitated before opening that door. He never particularly liked it when people laughed at him. 'course, he wasn't exactly a real funny person either, so it didn't happen very often. But it was gonna happen now. Somehow he knew it, as well as he knew...actually, better than he knew his own name. Bonding. Logan rolled his eyes skyward. This was what being 'bonded' with an empath probably meant. He knew how Dean would react, maybe even before Dean did.

With a deep breath, Logan turned the knob and pulled the door open. Dean looked up from his notebook; the kid claimed he needed ta write some kinda definitions for his new class. Then the kid frowned.

"Dude, what the hell is that? Your Halloween costume? I thought I was finally going to see this uniform of yours?" Dean asked, giving Logan the strangest look.

Logan glanced down at himself. It was the same blue and yellow costume he'd always had as a member of the X-Men. "This is it."

"That?" Dean's eyeballs almost popped outta his head. A slow smile spread. "Seriously? That?" He chuckled, long and slow.

Here it came. Logan could literally feel it as the hilarity built. One hand covered Dean's mouth as the kid's mossy green eyes sparkled with glee. He seemed to choke a couple-a times before giving in to full-out laughin'. Logan sighed and leaned against the doorframe to watch the kid havin' a grand ol' time laughin' his ass off. When Dean couldn't breathe no more and tears was runnin' down that stupid face, Logan had had enough. He turned around, slamming the door on his so-called best friend.

When he came back out, in his regular clothes, Dean was still sittin' out there waitin'. Except for the fact there was still a couple-a wet streaks on the kid's cheeks there was no sign of the hysterical laughin' from before.

"Dude," Dean said slowly with a sad shake of his head, "you need a new uniform. How the hell can you sneak up on anybody in that? It's so freaking loud, you can hear it comin'."

"Huh?" Logan had expected more teasing, not a mandate for a new uniform. "Kid, it ain't like I had much say in it. The Professor just gave it to me."

"No way," his friend said stiffly. "That's not gonna work. I don't care how indestructible he thinks you are, there's no freaking excuse for that. Please tell me you don't do any recon in that thing."

With a guilty glance at the changin' room, the reply was more of a promise when Logan said, "Not anymore."

"Does anyone else wear bright colors like that?" Dean demanded as he stood, clutching the notebook in one hand. "Better not if I'm on the recon mission. Dude, do you have any idea the amount of energy it would take to hide that thing? I'd pass out five minutes into the mission."

Logan scowled. "You're exaggeratin'. As usual."

"Not this time," Dean snapped, checking his watch. "Dinner is in twenty minutes. I'll meet you in the cafeteria."

"Hey!" Logan protested as Dean walked away. "Where do you think your goin'?"

"To see a dude about a black suit!" Dean shouted without turning around.

"Black?" Logan muttered to himself. He nodded thoughtfully as he considered it. "I'd look good in black."


	45. Chapter 45: Changing Times

Chapter 45 – **Changing Times**

For such a smart guy, Xavier could be a freaking moron. Frustrated by his recent so-called discussion, Dean considered heading to the gym instead of the cafeteria but he knew he needed food. Discussion? That was when two or more parties talked and freaking listened to each other. He would've made more headway on the uniform discussion with a damn brick wall. Xavier _liked_ the colorful uniforms. Considering he wanted to keep mutants a secret he was doing a real bad job of it. First he let the whole damn town start thinking this place was some kind of secret training camp for terrorists or devil worshipers or some such crap, then he put his own people not just in uniform but ones that could glow in the freaking dark!

Just as his frustration reached a breaking point, Dean had a realization that stopped him dead in his tracks, his emotions settling instantly.

Hank.

If there was one person around who Xavier really listened to, it was Hank. Hank not only liked Dean, the doc actually listened to him. If he could convince Hank the X-Men needed dark uniforms, preferably black, then Hank might be able to convince Xavier.

"Kid?" Logan was nearly on top of him. "What's wrong? Feel dizzy?"

Dean blinked slowly as he gave his head a shake. "No, I'm good. Uh, ready to eat?"

"Yeah." He let Logan shove him through the door to the cafeteria. A din of echoing teenage voices filled the large room, forcing them to nearly shout to talk as they stood in line. "So what was you up to?"

Dean let a quick scowl slip before he managed to put his game face on. "I tried to talk to Xavier about your uniform."

Logan shook his head at him, unsurprised. "Not goin' for it, is he? I coulda told you that, kid."

Dean shrugged, picking up an empty tray. "This isn't over yet. I have an idea."

Logan snorted at him. "Good luck with that, kid. You're gonna need it."

"Thanks a lot, Mister Helpful."

Logan chuckled this time, knocking into his shoulder. "Serves you right," he muttered in Dean's ear. "For laughing like that."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean scoffed, blowing off the reprimand. "Like you've never laughed at me. What about a couple of days ago, when you knocked me on my ass while we were playing football?" He motioned to the person serving up the side dishes to triple his portion today. The potatoes and veggie-mix really looked good.

"That was different," Logan argued. Dean rolled his eyes. Here we go. "You fell 'cause you wasn't payin' attention."

Dean shot a sharp look at his friend. "And you were paying attention when The Professor told you to wear that thing? Really?"

Logan scowled, nodding at the server to double his dessert just like Dean's. "That's not the same. It was like gettin' new orders. You know all about that."

"My dad never wrapped me up in christmas lights," Dean replied in a hard voice, leading them over to the teachers' table, "sprayed my hair pink and sent me outside while telling me not to let anyone notice."

"It ain't that bad," Logan said with a groan.

"Like hell it's..." The protest died in his mouth when his eyes landed on the woman sitting at the far end of the table. Pretty eyes locked with his and a bright smile lit her face. She waved to him but there were no seats available around her. Damn.

"The purple hair ain't so bad," Logan said, nudging his shoulder gently.

"What purple hair?" Dean asked honestly, smiling back at her. Maybe he could catch up with her after dinner. They needed to discuss their date. "She's a blond."

"Blond? What? Oh, that irritatin' woman. I was talkin' about her friend," Logan stated. His tray clunked against the table as he sat down.

"What friend?" Dean peeled his gaze away from Libby to the dark-haired woman sitting with her. "Oh, she works at the library too."

"She's workin' there?" Logan demanded. "And you asked out the irritatin' one?"

Dean shot him a strong look. "It won't work. I am going to get that stupid uniform changed, Logan."

Logan stabbed some meat to shove into his mouth. Ah, man, dinner smelled good. Dean kept one eye on Libby while he ate, hoping for a seat next to her to open up. Logan tried to talk to him about the hand-to-hand combat class, but Dean wasn't really paying attention. As he dug into his dessert, the person sitting next to Libby stood.

"Back in a few minutes," Dean promised Logan before rushing over to snag the empty seat.

"Hey," Dean greeted Libby as he slid into the seat next to her. "Did you finish that research?"

"Hi, Hunter," she replied, her smile bright and honest, her emotions running high with excitement. "And yes I did. How does six sound?"

Dean scratched at his jaw, thinking it over. "Well, Logan just conned me into assisting with one of his combat classes, and I think that runs until almost five. We'll either have to eat at the theater or you'll need to grab something before we go."

"Oh, that's fine," Libby replied cheerfully. "Where do you want to meet?"

Dean shrugged. "The Library is on the way. I can meet you there and then we can walk together to my car."

"Wonderful," Libby told him, her pretty blue-green eyes focused on him. Awesome.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Dean ignored it. "I hope you like classic cars."

Libby giggled. "Why?"

"Hey," a woman's voice said sternly as another tap landed on his shoulder, "that is my seat." Dean looked up at the woman with dark hair, black fading to deep purple at the ends. No way was that natural.

He turned back to Libby. "I guess you'll see tomorrow."

She grinned brightly. "Tomorrow. Good night, Hunter."

"Night." Regretfully, Dean stood up from the table. Libby's friend gave him a sour look before sitting in her chair.

Dean headed back for his seat to find Logan giving him a similar sour look. "Now what?" he demanded, retaking his place at the table.

"Irritatin'," Logan repeated, like it would make a difference.

Dean shook his head and picked up his fork. "Dude, she's good people. Trust me."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Like I have a choice?"

Now Dean chuckled. "Not if you want an assistant instructor," he threatened.

"Somehow I got the feelin' you ain't that easy to get rid of," Logan replied, no heat in the words or hard feelings behind them. Just a statement of fact.

"Probably not," Dean agreed. "What am I supposed to do for your class again?"

Logan scowled. "I think it c'n wait until that woman ain't around. You might be able to pay attention then."

Dean grimaced. He hadn't thought he was that obvious. "Fine, but don't let me forget to call Bobby to let him know we made it."

"You're finished," Logan replied with a wave of his hand at Dean's empty tray. "Go call. I'll meet ya in the rec room."

"Take care of my tray?" Dean asked hopefully. Logan lifted up his still half-full tray to slide Dean's underneath. "Thanks, Fuzzy. See you in ten."

* * *

"Fuzzy?" Logan cringed. It was Summers. Oh, of all the people who could-a heard that... "Logan, do you actually permit Hunter to call you Fuzzy?"

Logan gave his team leader a nod.

"May I ask why?" Summers asked, soundin' a lot like he was askin' a student for the reason behind some dumb-ass stunt.

Logan locked gazes with Summers, his mind whirling for the best way to explain. "Nobody else has the balls to."

The slightly slack-jawed reaction was priceless. Too bad Dean missed it. Logan cast a glance down the table at the gaggle of library women. While Logan took their dirty dinner trays to the tray return, he realized that he knew Dean wasn't just flirtin' with this one. His friend really liked the irritatin' woman. Must be that bonding crap at work again.

Best friends. When was the last time he'd had a best friend? Good question. If his memory wasn't so full o' holes, he might be able to answer that. Even so, Logan was positive it had been a long damn time. It felt kind of good knowin' there was somebody he could count on, who had his back. In combat situations he knew he could count on the team, but friendship went beyond combat. He could count on Dean to crack a joke or punch him in the shoulder, whatever he needed. And those crappy movies the kid liked? Hell, if that was the test of friendship, they'd be best buddies 'til the Earth stopped spinnin'. Probably still watchin' the same crappy movies.

Without really realizin' what he was doin', Logan found himself standin' behind that irritatin' woman. He cleared his throat, interruptin' the gaggle's conversation.

"Can we help you?" The good lookin' one with the purple hair glared at him. Her eyes were too dark.

Logan shifted his attention to Miss Annoyin'. "Libby, right?" he asked, thrusting a hand at her. "We ain't been properly introduced. Logan."

The dark haired gal laughed while the irritatin' one went kind o' red in the face. "It's nice to officially meet you, Logan," she said politely, shooting her friend a glare as she shook his hand. "I don't believe I've seen you in the library."

Logan shook his head. "I ain't much for readin'."

"I think you mean, **I'm** not much for reading," the irritatin' woman said.

"Really?" he asked her, shocked. "I wouldn't say that. You're a librarian. I kinda thought ya had to like readin'."

The dark haired one started laughin' and the annoyin' one started stutterin'. "No, no, that's not what I... I meant to say... You should have said..." She stopped and stared at him for the longest time. "It's very nice to meet you, Logan. You're a friend of Hunter's, aren't you? I believe I've seen you eating together regularly."

"Yeah." Logan took out his unlit cigar and shoved it in the corner of his mouth. "I reckon that's why I figured I needed to come over here and meet you. Evenin', ladies." He nodded politely at them before walking off.

"Good evening, Logan!" Libby shouted to him as he left.

He could hear the dark haired one laughing again, but not the one Dean liked. Maybe she wasn't as annoyin' as he thought. At least she had somethin' old fashioned that not many people now-a-days considered important: manners.

Logan could hear Dean's voice from the hall talkin' to Bobby. He rounded the corner into the rec room, empty 'cept for Dean sittin' on the sofa. Plopping down hard enough to make the kid bounce, Logan waited for the call with Bobby to end. When he finished, Dean made a show of puttin' his phone away.

"I'm done. Now, what do I have to do to be your assistant? And it better not be standing around while you beat the crap out of me." He finished with a smile, like he knew that wasn't it.

"Nah," Logan scoffed. "I've been needin' an assistant to demonstrate different moves an' how to block 'em, stuff like that. Now that I know your style, I figured you'd be 'bout perfect."

Dean shrugged at him. "All right. Should we hit the gym? So you can show me what we'll be demonstrating tomorrow? And Tuesday?"

Logan frowned. "And Tuesday? We c'n work on that tomorrow night."

His friend just grinned. Oh, right. The Big Date. "Never mind," Logan grunted. "Let's go."

"You know you owe me at least a week's worth of movies now, right?" Dean asked as they headed down the hall.

Logan let out a noncommittal grunt. He figured he wouldn't be able to squirm out of it anyhow, so what was the point in arguin'?

* * *

"How is he?" John demanded when Bobby hung up his house phone.

"Fine," Bobby replied. "You are going to keep your promise, right? About talking to Sam?"

"He's coming for New Year's," John said with a shrug. "I'll talk to him then."

Bobby growled under his breath, sounding more and more like one of his four legged residents every year. "Damn it, John. It'll be the first time those boys seen each other in over a year, more like a year an' a half. The crap between you and Sam could ruin it."

He eyed the unopened bottle of Jack waiting for them on Bobby's table. "Where are the glasses?"

Bobby grunted in disapproval but he opened a cabinet and retrieved two short drinking glasses. The heavy glass clunked on the table as Bobby sat across from him. John twisted the cap off and poured each of them a generous portion. He lifted one glass to toast one of his longest standing and best friends.

"To the one person who can take all the crap life is dumping on me in stride," John said.

Bobby sighed before taking a sip. "John, I know you've gone to some therapy sessions up at that school, but are they for you or Dean?"

John frowned, lowering his glass to chest level. "What do you mean?"

Bobby leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I can see where this is all... Hell, John, I can't believe you've been dealin' this well."

"You can't?" he demanded, shocked by the admission. "Weren't you the one who threatened to run me over with a cement truck?"

A deep chuckle answered him. "Not my fault," Bobby argued. "Besides, Dean's settled down a lot since then. Not mad at you anymore, is he?"

John shook his head before taking a long drink, relishing the cool and strong burn down his throat. He sighed in relief as he lowered his glass. "Nope. Won't even discuss the fight Sam and I had. Claims it's between me and Sam, that he had nothin' to do with it."

"Did he?" Bobby asked, openly curious. "He's only mentioned it once or twice, nothin' specific."

"No." John sighed again, shocked by how good it felt to allow his emotions to run free and uncontrolled. "Honestly, I kind of forgot he was in the room." Guilt, sorrow, self-incrimination, and truckloads of regret poured out from the deep recesses where he normally locked them down.

"John?" One of Bobby's large hands wrapped around his forearm and squeezed. The hand holding the glass of whiskey landed heavily on the table. "John, are you all right?"

"I... Uh..." He swallowed hard, a thick lump in his throat and sharp stinging in his eyes. Bobby stared at him with wide eyes and a shocked expression. "What?"

"You're cryin'," Bobby said softly, the hand squeezing again.

John blinked a few times waiting for the words to make sense. He left his glass on the table and pulled away to rub his hands over his face, amazed to feel how wet his cheeks were. "Damn," he muttered, staring down at his damp palms. "Glad Dean's not here."

"I'll bet." Bobby motioned to the mostly full bottle of Jack on the table. "We got plenty of whiskey and all night to drink it. Tell me about that fight."

John wiped his face again before reaching for his glass. "I found Sam's acceptance letter a couple of weeks before, so I knew what was coming." This was the first time he had admitted to all the details. "I decided if Sam started a fight about it, I'd let him so he could go. After telling Dean he was done with school I didn't want to send Sam off to college, like he was the smart kid." He sniffed, his nose starting to run. "Dean's just as smart, you know."

"I know," Bobby said softly. "So what happened?"

John sighed heavily, thoroughly ashamed of how he acted that day. "I didn't think Sam would start off with the big guns, coming at me with how horrible a parent I was. Then he..." The words stuck in his throat.

"He what?" Bobby asked gently.

"He said he couldn't be my perfect little soldier. Like Dean." John downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass in one long gulp. "More?" he asked, refilling his drink.

Bobby's eyebrows drew together, visible with his stupid trucker's cap off. He shook his head slowly, not saying a damn word.

John stared at the amber liquid in his glass, finding it easier to look at than Bobby's eyes. "I lost it, Bobby. I mean, Dean pretty much raised Sam. I don't have any illusions about that." He sighed deeply, still staring at the whiskey cradled between his hands. "For Sam to say something like that, right in front of his brother." He shook his head. "I can't even remember what I said after that, but there was no way he could go to school then, not with my blessing. There was an awful lot of shouting and name calling, and we both said..." His fingers tapped nervously against the side of his glass. "We said some horrible things, both of us slinging every insult we could think of at each other."

One hand rubbed his face, then raked through his hair. "I told Sam if he walked out that door, not to bother coming back." John swallowed hard over that admission. He still had nightmares about The Fight and the things that could happen to his son away at college. "After Sam stormed off to pack I turned around. There was Dean."

He could barely breathe now, the muscles in his chest tight and his throat nearly closed. "I've seen that look on other people's faces," he whispered, his voice refusing to work properly. "Men who lost their wives and sometimes their children too, in a fire or car wreck. I never thought I'd ever be the cause of it. To know I'd done it to Dean..." His voice gave out completely, ending in a nasty crack.

"And you left," Bobby finished for him. "That's why Dean spent a month here after Sam went to school." Strangely, John did not hear a recriminating tone or disgust in that gravelly voice. Bobby must be slipping.

John nodded again, forcing the air into his lungs. "It took that long before I thought I could look him in the eye again. He's never looked at me quite the same since then, you know?" He shrugged, trying not to show how much that bugged him. "Not that I would deserve it."

He waved a hand towards the front room. "Need the shotgun?"

"I think this is the kind of thing you outta be discussin' with McCoy," Bobby suggested with a shake of his head.

John sighed heavily. "I can't. Dean can pick up on my emotions, if they're strong enough, from nearly a mile away." He downed another quick slug.

"Really?" Bobby made a stern face before taking a sip of whiskey. "It's only about four hundred feet for me. Reckon I'm not as important as his daddy."

John chuckled, sad and slow. "Thanks. You're full of crap, but I appreciate it."

"What else you been not tellin' the doc?" Bobby demanded. "Seems we're both in the carin' and sharin' mood tonight." He lifted his drink, pointing with his index finger over the top. "But I ain't gonna remember none of this tomorrow."

"Promise?" John asked, amazed by the amount of relief he felt.

Bobby nodded. "Otherwise I might need to load my shotgun, but we 'bout have that demon detector of yours ready."

"Speaking of..." he started, hoping for a change in subject.

"Uh-uh," Bobby admonished. "You're talkin' about your boys tonight. We'll worry about demons tomorrow."

"Oh, crap," John groaned. "I still haven't set up New Year's with Jim."

Bobby grinned. "Talk about someone who outta be here right now." His face went sober. "Does he know about Dean?"

John shook his head. "That'll be a fun conversation." He threw back another slug of whiskey. "Jim, my oldest is a mutant so watch yourself, he can change the way you perceive things. I allowed Sam to pick a fight with me so he could go to college because I'm such a lousy father I couldn't allow him to go with my blessings. And oh, by the way, did I mention I have a third son? Just found out last year. Dean knows, Sam doesn't. There's a big bad demon stalking a whole school full of mutants, so Dean took a job there teaching them how to spot demons and protect themselves. Now, how are things in your neck of the woods?" He scoffed loudly. "Jim'll come after me with one of those wicked knives he keeps in the basement."

"Maybe we should pay him a visit," Bobby suggested. "Talk about it with him in person."

"We?" John reached for the Jack to refill his glass. Again. "As in you and me?"

Bobby nodded seriously. "John, you and your boys are the only family I got. Especially..." He eyed John for a moment. "I don't want you to take this next part personally."

John waved a hand for Bobby to continue. They were so far past the point of Bobby being able to offend him the grouchy hunter should be able to say any damn thing.

"Especially Dean," Bobby finished. "I never wanted to play favorites, you know that, but Dean?" He shrugged helplessly. "I got a soft spot for him."

"Like you don't have one for Sam?" John scoffed.

Bobby chuckled deeply, the alcohol taking effect. "Oh, sure. If that boy asked me to, I'd hop the next plane for the west coast. But I know he won't. Dean?" Wide callused hands spread helplessly in the air as a grin spread on his face. "When he needs me, he calls. I go."

"Nice to feel useful, huh?" John replied, grateful for the whiskey settling in his muscles, forcing them to relax. One of these days, he would like to feel this relaxed around his son again. Any of them. If Dean had his way, all of them at the same time. Just the thought made his jaw ache in anticipation of the hours of teeth gritting and grinding that would require.

"Yep." His old friend chuckled again. "I kind of wish he'd call more, but that would mean he was always in over his head."

John returned the chuckle and reached for the whiskey again. "Just show up. Works for me." He laughed then, remembering exactly how well that worked the first time as he poured more in his glass. "Usually," he amended.

"Uh, I think I'd better stick to callin' first," Bobby replied. He shoved his empty glass closer. "Make yerself useful."

John tilted the nearly empty bottle to refill Bobby's glass. "We're both gonna feel like crap tomorrow. You know that."

"Yup. That's why you're drivin' the first couple hours," Bobby replied, taking back his glass. He held it up in toast again. "To Jim. May he be a whole lot smarter about this business than we are."

"Amen to that," John added agreeably. Then he caught the look Bobby was giving him and dissolved in a chuckling fit, joined quickly by his friend.


	46. Chapter 46: First Date

Chapter 46: **First Date**

Dean slid his money through the slot to pay for their movie tickets. "Are you sure this is the one you want to see?" he asked again.

"Oh, yes," Libby assured him. "It's supposed to be really good."

It looked like a serious chick-flick to him, but Dean didn't say it out loud. He grunted as he took the tickets. Libby had a big smile on her face when he turned around.

"I'm sure this isn't your kind of movie," she said as she wrapped a hand around his arm and moved closer as they walked to the door, "but I really appreciate you seeing it with me."

He felt warmth flush through his body starting with where Libby held his arm. Her good mood was infectious and her hand slipped down his arm to hold his hand when he opened the door for her. Dean returned her smile as he handed over their tickets and received a burst of happiness from her in return. It was nice to be out with someone who just wanted to be with him and wasn't expecting anything except a movie. He wouldn't have thought he would enjoy it this much.

They continued to hold hands after choosing seats and sitting. Some nervousness crept into Libby's emotions.

"So," Dean tried to take her mind off whatever was making her nervous, "you know about my family. How about you? Any brothers or sisters?"

Libby shook her head. "I'm an only child. My parents and I, well, we could have a better relationship." She sighed deeply and mild sorrow and resignation replaced the nervousness. He wasn't sure which he preferred.

"Parents can be a pain," Dean agreed. "But I think they mean well."

"Yours does," Libby replied with a laugh. "I don't think I've ever seen a more devoted father."

Dean stared at her in disbelief for a moment. "You're talking about my dad?"

"Yes." She frowned a little. "How many parents do you see hanging around the Institute?"

"I never thought about it," Dean replied slowly. She had a point. Dad was probably the only one. "Want something from the concession stand?" he asked to change the subject.

Libby gave him a small smile. "Sure. I'll share your popcorn."

"What makes you think I'm getting popcorn?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I figure you'll come back with a couple of hot dogs, nachos, and a bag of popcorn," she replied lightly, "since you didn't have time to eat before picking me up. Don't forget my drink."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said as he stood. He could feel her smile on his back the whole way down the theater stairs.

* * *

She was wrong about him trying to sneak off, Libby realized as Hunter made his way to her through the crowded movie theater. The lights were low, making it difficult to see, and previews were showing. Libby stood so Hunter could find her. She could easily make out his smile even in the semi-darkness. He passed her the popcorn before taking his seat. In his absence all the seats around them had filled. It was a packed house which was surprising for a Monday night. Then again this movie had been setting box office records, so maybe she shouldn't be so surprised.

Her date started right in on his hot dogs, polishing off two before the movie they came to see started. The third one lasted a little longer. Next Hunter dove into his nachos, she had been right about those. He made scoffing noises throughout the first hour but he never asked to leave. Then their hands both dove into the popcorn bag at the same time. His large warm hand wrapped around hers and drew it out gently. He entwined his fingers with hers on the armrest between them. Then she heard the popcorn bag rustle again. Hunter was reaching into the bag with his far hand. With a giggle Libby followed his example.

The movie demanded Libby's attention. There were two main characters and one was terminally ill. The scene flashed forward several months to see the sick one on her deathbed, her best friend and young daughter by her side. It was emotionally charged and very moving, no wonder the critics loved it. Libby doubted there would be a dry eye in the house, except perhaps her date. She wiped away a tear with her free hand before turning to see if Hunter was scowling at the screen.

To her shock she found tears cascading down his cheeks. He gulped twice, like he was trying to hold back and not allow himself to cry.

"Mom? Mom!" the daughter cried on the movie screen.

He gasped and a fresh flood of tears escaped. Hunter panted, his eyes darting around wildly, before he leapt to his feet scattering what was left of their popcorn on the people in front of them. Without a word he dashed down the stairs and out the first exit.

Confused and worried, Libby raced after him. She peered both ways outside the exit, spotting brief movement at the far corner. She ran in that direction and spotted Hunter in the parking lot making a bee-line for his car. Libby rushed in the same direction, wondering if he planned to leave her here. She caught up with him at the car.

He leaned against it, arms on the roof and his face buried against them.

"Hunter?" she asked gently. "What is it? What happened?"

"Too much," he gasped against his arms.

"Too much?" she repeated. How could the movie be too much? Certainly it had been very moving and highly emotional, but what could... "Hunter? You-you're not an empath. Are you?" Desperately worried now, Libby grabbed at him. "Are you?" she demanded, shaking his shoulder.

His breathing was rough and heavy before his head nodded once. All those people watching the movie, all of their sad emotions bombarding him. It must have been too intense for him to screen them all out, and that was assuming he had learned how. Oh, if she had known she would have picked a comedy.

That was it!

"I am going to fix this," Libby promised. "Wait here, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." She patted him on the back before running to the ticket booth.

There were no lines this time, it must be between showtimes. The girl at the window gave her a questioning look.

"What's the best comedy you have showing right now?" Libby demanded as she dug through her purse for her money.

"We have two," the girl said, pointing them out on the showtimes display. "This one is all right, it's about a dog. I didn't really care for this one but my boyfriend loved it. It's a guy movie."

"Is it playing right now?" Libby asked anxiously.

"Uh, well, one started about twenty minutes ago. The next showing starts in an hour and a half," the girl informed her.

"I'll take two for the one playing right now," Libby insisted, shoving her money through the slot.

The girl gave her a weird look but she took the money and printed out two tickets. "Are you sure?" she asked. "You missed the beginning."

"It's perfect," Libby replied as she snagged her tickets.

She ran back to the black car. Hunter seemed calmer now leaning back against it, but his eyes were red-rimmed and his face still had tear streaks down the cheeks.

"Oh, dear," she mumbled as she searched through her purse again. Libby found her travel pack of tissues. She pulled out several. "Here," she said, thrusting them in his face. "Hold these over your face and pretend to sneeze when we walk in. Allergies cause red eyes, too."

"I'm not going back in there," Hunter replied with wide eyes and a fearful expression.

"Not to the same movie," she snapped as she grabbed his hand. Libby tugged him unwillingly along behind her. "I'm going to fix this."

He snorted from behind her. "How?"

"You'll see," Libby replied. "You're going to have to trust me."

He stopped short of going through the doors. Irritated, Libby spun around. "Come on," she insisted. "This is my fault and I can fix it. Give me a chance."

She watched as indecision crossed his handsome face and waited worriedly. If he wouldn't let her fix this mistake, she doubted he would ask her out again. And she wouldn't blame him for it either.

Slowly he lifted the tissues clutched in his other hand to his face and gave her a nod. Relieved, Libby led him through the doors and passed over their tickets. They received more odd looks for buying tickets to a movie that was in progress, but Libby ignored it and Hunter put on a show of excessive sneezing. There were several good reasons for choosing a comedy in progress: one, it would be dark in the theater and no one would be able to tell her date had been crying so he wouldn't be embarrassed, and two, the other people in the theater ought to be laughing and enjoying themselves by now, which was the whole point.

It was Monday night and this movie wasn't as popular as the other one, there were still plenty of seats. Libby led her date to the very back to sit, holding his hand the whole time. She expected him to shake her off after they had seats. He didn't. It took at least twenty minutes but then she heard him chuckle. Soon after he was laughing along with the rest of the audience. It had worked. Libby let out a breath of pure relief.

Now he released her hand. Darn. Then Hunter pushed up the armrest between them. Next he wound an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, all the while laughing lightly. Libby relaxed against him, realizing she had been fully forgiven for her horrible choice in the first movie. She scooted over until she could rest her head against his chest and listen to his laughter. It was a comforting sound.

The movie capitalized on sophomoric humor and slapstick, but the audience's good mood was contagious. Libby found herself laughing just as hard as Hunter by the end, which was cute and kind of sweet. This time they left with everyone else, their hands clasped tight. He held all the doors exiting the theater open for her and the car door in the parking lot.

Hunter dropped into his seat heavily and stared at the steering wheel, unmoving, for several moments.

"Hunter?" Libby asked. "Is there something wrong?" Surely the comedy had worked? He appeared to be in good spirits.

"Just one thing." His head turned and those gorgeous dark green eyes looked at her. "My name is Dean, not Hunter."

"Oh." She stuck out her hand. "Elizabeth."

He smiled sweetly as he took her hand in his. She thought he would shake it, but instead he pulled her towards him until their faces were close enough Libby could feel the heat from his breath on her cheek. Dean leaned closer, soft warm lips pressing against hers. Stunned, she sat perfectly still while he gave her a very sweet kiss.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his face still amazingly close to hers.

It was not until he pulled back that Libby realized she had not responded to the kiss, that he might think she hadn't wanted or liked it. Panicked, she swung her arms up to throw around his neck and keep him close.

"Can I still call you Libby?" he asked with a smile as he leaned towards her again. Her heart thundered in her chest and a roaring sounded in her ears, threatening to drown out his voice. This date was going much better than she had daydreamed.

"I-I don't really like it," she stammered.

His smiled widened and he chuckled. "Yes, you do." Then Dean, which was just as nice a name as Hunter, perhaps even better, leaned back in to kiss her again.

This time Libby responded, kissing him back for all she was worth. It was slow and intense, and he could do things with his tongue that sent warm thrills through her. When they finally broke apart the windows were fogged over. Dean chuckled and ran a hand along the side of her head to the tight knot on the back.

"Do you ever wear it down?" he asked, inspecting the knot.

"Um, sometimes," she told him. "But not very often."

Strong masculine fingers worked gently at her hair, releasing it from its tight confines. One by one the bobbypins and barrettes dropped into her lap while Libby waited patiently. When it was free, Dean ran his fingers through her hair and shook it out for her.

"Sexy," he told her with a grin.

Libby rolled her eyes. "I am not sexy."

"Are you kidding?" he demanded with a shake of his head. "You are totally hot." His eyes lit up. "Hey, I found a place the other day with great pie and coffee. Interested?"

"You mean in public?" Libby asked uncertainly.

"Yyyeesss," Dean said slowly, his brow furrowed. "Unless you'd rather not be seen with me?"

She stared in disbelief at him. "Why wouldn't I?" Libby asked in amazement. "You're gorgeous." Oh, God, please tell her she did not just say that out loud.

His creased brow smoothed and his endearing smile returned with a deep chuckle. "You're not so bad yourself." He winked at her as he reached for the ignition.

Her face heated with embarrassment as she turned away to look out at the night, hopefully where he wouldn't be able to see. Of course, since he was an empath, not seeing her embarrassment wouldn't hide it. Oh, dear. Libby lifted a hand to cover her face. How could she live this down?

She heard him moving and the seat creaked as he reached over it into the back. Libby managed to sneak a peek when Dean turned around. He used a t-shirt he found in the back seat to wipe down the fogged over windshield. Her embarrassment doubled when she realized she was the cause.

Dean backed out of their parking space and they headed towards the Institute. Well, maybe Dean hadn't meant it when he offered to take her out in public. She sighed to herself and attempted to blink back tears of disappointment, busying herself with putting away her hairpins. Then the big black car turned off the road into a diner parking lot. Hope flared in her chest.

He parked the car. "Is that a yes?" Dean asked.

Libby turned her head to look at him again. "Yes for what?"

His lop-sided smile was doing all kinds of things to her, foremost it was causing her brain to short-circuit. She should probably know the answer to this question.

"Pie?" His eyes sparkled with good humor and his grin broadened.

"Oh, uh, sure," Libby stammered.

"Wait there," he instructed.

Confused, she waited in the passenger seat while he exited the car. Dean walked around to open her door and hold out a hand to help her out. Such a gentleman. He entwined his fingers with hers as they crossed the parking area towards the diner.

"You're not planning on mentioning what, uh, happened. Right?" Dean asked her nervously. "Especially to Logan."

"Why would I?" Libby asked in reply, honestly confused by the question. And was he talking about his bad reaction to the first film or their make-out session? Either way, it was no one else's business.

His wonderful smile returned. "No reason, I guess. The cherry and apple pie are both awesome."

"You're going to order both, aren't you?" she teased as he held the diner door open for her.

Dean chuckled. "Yep."

Libby supposed this was a rather ordinary looking diner and there were only a few other patrons. The bench seats were a dark green vinyl with white piping, as were the chairs around the free-standing tables. The tabletops were formica laminate with a marble look. Dean chose a booth near the windows facing the door.

A waitress walked casually over to take their orders of coffee and pie.

"Oh." Dean snapped his fingers as the waitress left their table. He pulled out his wallet. "I owe you for those tickets."

Libby frowned at him. "No you don't," she argued. "It was the least I could do."

Dean's handsome face creased in a worried frown. "It's not your fault," he pitched his voice in a whisper, "I'm a freaking girly empath." He appeared rather upset by the fact, too.

"It's not girly," Libby snapped. She could not imagine Dean with any 'girly' traits. "Besides, now that I know, I'll wait until the tear-jerker films come out on video before making you watch them with me."

He blanched at the suggestion. "You're going to make me watch another one?"

"You're really going to force me to take your money?" Libby countered.

His strong fingers drummed against the top of the table while he stared at her. "It'll tick you off that much, huh? Okay, fine. But I'm buying your pie." He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket.

Dating an empath was already proving to be an adventure. Of course, that was assuming there would be a second date.

Their waitress appeared with three slices of pie and two cups of hot coffee. She placed them on the table while Dean salivated over the pie. He attacked his dessert with gusto. Libby could only watch in amazement as the first slice of pie disappeared in seconds. As he slid the second slice closer, he frowned at her.

"Aren't you going to try it?" her date asked, waving his fork at her pie.

Libby lifted her fork slowly to slice off a bite. She realized he was watching her intently. Oh, the pie was fabulous! If she came here everyday, she would be as big as a house.

"So are we doing anything this weekend?" Dean asked casually, as if they discussed spending their days off together all the time.

Libby swallowed hastily to clear her mouth. "Oh, uh, well, I didn't have, uh, any plans."

"Did you know there's a decent blues club in this town?" Dean said as he cut into his second pie, the cherry. "Want to go Friday night?"

After the disaster earlier, he actually wanted to go out with her again? Really? When she had threatened to make him watch another tear-jerker with her it had been a weak joke. She had not honestly expected him to take her seriously. Was he serious? Could he be toying with her?

A fully loaded fork paused outside of his mouth. "Is that a no?" His deep eyes peered intently at her.

"No," Libby replied quickly. "I mean, no I wasn't saying no." Was it growing warmer in here? "You really want to go out again? With me?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "Just not to a chick-flick." He shoved in another heaping forkful. "You gonna eat that?" he mumbled around his pie.

Then again, maybe he was serious. Maybe he wanted...

His fork dashed out to slice off and steal a chunk of her pie. Libby could only watch in a shocked stupor.

"Hey," she finally responded as he ate part of her pie. Dean chuckled at her chewing loudly.

"Too slow," he chided, still chuckling.

She shot him a nasty look before cutting off another chunk for herself. "You do know I work Saturdays, right? I always have the morning shift."

"We can do it Saturday night." Dean shrugged like it was no big deal and sipped at his coffee. "So what do you want to do Friday?"

Her stomach flipped over. He wanted to go out with her two nights in row? Somebody up there was looking out for her.

She thought of their steamy make-out session in his car. "Well," she said slowly, "we could rent a couple of videos and stay in?" Sitting close to each other on her small sofa in the semi-dark sounded like a great idea.

His gorgeous eyes narrowed on her. "Chick-flick?" he demanded.

Libby smiled at him, realizing now she could tell if he was serious. "I haven't decided yet."

Dean's eyes rolled but he nodded his head. "Yeah, okay." The amazing smile, the one that sent a thrill right through her, returned. "Could be fun."

She was really glad he was an empath and not a telepath. As it was, Libby was half-convinced he could read her mind. She had a funny feeling she wouldn't be able to stop staring at her sofa until Friday.


	47. Chapter 47: Good For the Soul

I'd like to send out a special 'thanks' to my theological adviser _**charis-kalos **_for taking the time to proof read dear Jim Murphy, whom I wanted to sound authentic. Also, while I'm at it, a big thanks to _**Silver Ruffian**_ for being my sounding board with this fic, she has been a huge help with figuring out the interpersonal dynamics between Dean and the X-Men.

Chapter 47: **Good For The Soul**

Jim Murphy sat near the window reading an ancient book by the early afternoon sunlight. His home was small, modest, warm and clean. It was not in his nature to own possessions in excess. There were a few trinkets which had special emotional attachments. Two sat on his windowsill, carefully dusted at least once a week. Both had been handmade by young children. One was an ashtray, though he had never smoked, and it had been painted in bright eye-catching colors. The other clay artwork resembled a whiskey flask although at the time the child had assured him it was for carrying Holy Water. The ashtray boasted the name 'Sammy' on the bottom while 'Dean' had been printed proudly across the side of the flask.

He concentrated on his book, which had been written by a secret order of monks during the Dark Ages. It detailed their exorcism rituals along with the success rates of different methods. This particular order had been driven to find ways of saving the victims of demonic possession. Most fascinating.

The sound of a truck motor drew his attention. Jim looked out the window to watch a large black truck pull into his drive. With a glance at the clay trinkets on his windowsill, Jim set his book carefully aside. He could hear the men from the truck but from the bickering Jim knew it could not be John and Dean, therefore John had brought someone else with him. It was too much to hope for Sam.

When he pulled open his front door, careful to keep well outside the Key of Solomon engraved on his front stoop, Jim could see who his visitors were. It was indeed John Winchester and with him...

"Bobby Singer!" Jim chuckled in the cold air, his breath turning to white mist. "You are a sight for these old eyes!"

Singer shook his head as he marched up to the door. "Old? Who's old? I don't see any old folks around here."

Jim shook the hunter's hand warmly and watched Bobby walk through the trap. That was one visitor who was clean of any possession. He waited for Winchester to walk through it as well. John paused before setting foot on the stoop. He reached down with one hand to pull back the large mat covering the symbol. With an expressive roll of his eyes, John stepped in the center before walking out and replacing the mat.

"Do we pass?" he asked in his usual gruff manner.

"Or do we need beer first?" Bobby asked. "Because I could use one, and I don't care if there's Holy Water in it."

"You too?" John demanded of him. "I thought that was Bobby's trick."

Jim waved them both inside. "A good idea is a good idea. Back in a moment."

Following Bobby's advice Jim added a splash of Holy Water to each beer as he opened it. As an afterthought he wondered how old these beers were. Generally Jim did not offer alcohol to everyone who came to his home, saving it for his hunting contacts. When was the last time he had hunting guests? If he had to guess, it would have to be the last time Dean and his father dropped by. Now what were these two doing here without Dean?

Jim waited until each of his guests sipped the beer with no ill effects before inviting them to sit.

"First off, we really appreciated the advice on that school situation," Bobby started off. John sat stiffly in one of the armchairs looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"You were there too?" Jim asked, settling into his favorite chair.

"Yeah," John answered for his second visitor. "He was there too. Uh, based on the kinds of dreams those kids are having, I'm sure it's a demon. A real nasty one."

Jim frowned at his old friend. "The one we discussed?"

John sighed heavily as he nodded. "Pretty sure."

"Tell me what happened with the school." Jim listened patiently as the two experienced hunters described a small private school being plagued by this demon. His reaction turned to amazement over how the small community banded together to protect the school and the students using many different types of protections, all the way to the point of attempting to educate the campus and installing an all-encompassing protection symbol. It was almost impossible to believe there had been no period of adjustment, no disbelief, just simple acceptance and willingness to do what was needed.

"Is that where Dean is?" Jim asked. "Did you leave him behind to look after the school?"

"Kind of," John replied hesitantly. "Dean is the one who figured out there was something supernatural going on. He, uh, works there."

"Works there." Jim stared hard at his old ally. "You, John Winchester, allowed your son to take a real job?"

"God, Jim, when you put it like that, you make me sound like..." He blew out a loud huff, sounding both aggravated and mortally wounded.

"That's because he's perceptive," Bobby informed John.

John slouched in his chair. "I don't suppose you have anything stronger than this?" He held up the beer bottle. "I think I'm going to need it."

Most disturbed by John Winchester's uncharacteristic behavior, Jim retrieved a bottle of whiskey his old friend had left behind during the last visit to his home.

"You have to tell him, John," he overheard Bobby hissing.

Against his better judgment, Jim stood in the hall outside his parlor to listen.

"And what if he's like that televangelist asshole?" John demanded.

Bobby hrrumphed loudly. "I think you know better'n that. Jim'd never hurt either one of your boys."

Hurt the boys? Dean and Sam? What in the world would make John assume such a thing? It was preposterous. Jim cleared his throat loudly to announce his arrival before stepping into view. He handed over the fifth of whiskey and two glasses before resettling into his favorite chair.

"What brings you here?" he asked pointedly. Jim caught John's eye. "And don't tell me it was to say thank you."

John Winchester seemed older than he remembered, perhaps a little more gray in the rough beard and

unkempt hair. There were new lines in his face, around the eyes. Those eyes were normally sharp and quick, today they seemed furtive and wary. At this moment there were octogenarians who possessed more vitality than the hunter sitting opposite him.

"John has a problem," Bobby said slowly, his voice severe. "We're hopin' you can help."

* * *

"Mutants?" Jim asked, disbelief written all over his features. "That idiot Stryker has been preaching against mutants, not real demons?" He shook his head, his thin frame rigid with indignation.

"You've heard of him?" Bobby asked.

"Of course." Jim waved a hand through the air as he stood to pace. John watched his old friend closely, wondering over the pastor's lack of reaction to learning who was a mutant. "As I said, he is an idiot. Many members of my flock watch his, er, show." Jim's eyes rolled heavenward. "I'm tempted to pray for lightning to come every Sunday morning to strike down the signal broadcasting his ridiculous program."

"That could be arranged," Bobby muttered, a thin smile playing on his lips. John ignored it and hoped there wouldn't be a phone call to a certain instructor up at the Institute.

"Did you hear the part about Dean?" John asked insistently. "Why he's staying on at that school?"

Jim glared at him. "Yes, John. I may be growing old, but I am not yet deaf. It is all the more proof of the man's lunacy." He shook his head sadly. "To literally demonize people for being different. Are we no better than the Nazis?" His arms flapped in the air as if the good preacher were preparing to take flight.

John shot Bobby a worried look. This was Singer's stupid idea anyway. Bobby shrugged before shifting his gaze back to Jim Murphy, the nearly-flying parson.

"It is a disgrace! To look at any part of God's creation and call it evil!" Jim's pacing increased in intensity, as did his flapping. "To deny the extent of His plan for humanity; to limit His love! It is a perversion!"

John stared hard, trying to regain Bobby's attention. While Jim ranted and raved, Bobby finally turned to look at him. A satisfied smile and quick nod of the head were his answer. Bobby must like where this insanity was leading... Oh. Of course. Jim was fully on Dean's side, which was their side. He allowed himself to relax a little and twisted the top off the Jack. Bobby leaned forward for a glass. When Jim was on a roll like this, it could take some time for him to wind down.

"God obviously loves variety, or all human beings would be alike. These 'mutations,' adding to the richness of our experience of humanity, are clearly miracles, as good and true as the rainbow itself, God's enduring promise to be merciful."

John resisted rolling his eyes as he threw back a slug of whiskey. Yeah. He needed that.

Refusing to time Jim's outburst, John waited patiently for the preacher to calm. Then Jim stopped suddenly, his back to them. He turned slowly, his face grave and thoughtful. "Why do you believe Dean to be a mutant?"

"First off, he's an empath," John declared.

Jim's brow furrowed. "Dean has always been sensitive to the emotions of others, especially those he considers family. That does not necessarily make him an empath."

"Makes it likely," Bobby argued.

The next part would be more difficult. "He can also kind of...warp...the way you see things."

Jim took two deliberate steps forwards to tower over John's sitting form. "How?"

John shrugged. "No idea. But I know for a fact he's made me leave more than one bottle of Jack behind." He held up the mostly full bottle as proof. "I wondered where the hell this was after we left."

"Surely you have more evidence than forgetfulness?" Jim pressed, staring down.

John nodded sadly. "I went to one of his classes with him. Nobody there noticed me. At all. And I was sitting right next to him."

"No one?" Jim frowned. "I find that difficult to believe."

"It's true," Bobby put in. "I've seen it too. I watched him make his doctor want to take out an IV that he needed. We almost couldn't stop that one."

"And that was before he knew he was doing it," John added. "Just imagine what he may be able to do now that he's aware."

Bobby grunted. "I'd rather not. Thanks."

"Why, Bobby?" Jim asked, turning to face Bobby.

Bobby scowled. "Are you kiddin'? You know what Dean's like. He's liable to make people think, I don't know, there are radioactive ants crawlin' on 'em." He snort-chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or green slime. Maybe giant alien spiders?"

Jim massaged the center of his forehead with his long elegant fingers. "Bobby. Please." He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "Do you have any useful observations?"

"Dean can do all those things," Bobby returned evenly, meeting Jim's unwavering gaze. "And more. He's a mutant, Jim, but he's still Dean."

Jim nodded slowly, his head bobbing like a flower in a gentle breeze. "Will of God," he breathed, his eyes taking on a distant look.

John leaned to the side to see Bobby who shrugged at him. John shrugged back.

"Very well!" Jim snapped, coming back to himself. He spun on John, his eyes alight with purpose, Heaven help them all. Jim landed in his armchair with a muted plop. "Details, gentlemen." His long hands rubbed together eagerly. "I have always wanted to discredit that self-serving televangelist."

"That's great, Jim. Really." Bobby leaned forward, resting his hands on his thighs. "But that ain't the real reason we're here." He nodded in John's direction. "The real problem, right now, is with Dean's daddy."

John's pride demanded he protest the statement, to issue some kind of denial, but he couldn't. Because it was true.

"John?" Jim's voice was softer now, more the small town pastor in service to his flock than the Vengeance of The Almighty.

John nodded once, the most he could muster.

"Bobby? You must be tired after that drive," Jim said, his focus off of John. "Perhaps you could use a walk to clear your head?"

"Yeah." Bobby stood up. He paused to pat John's shoulder before he left, heavy footsteps pounding out the door. It closed with a reassuring snap, allowing a little privacy and assuring him Bobby wouldn't be far.

Jim poured more whiskey into his glass. "Go ahead, John. Whenever you're ready."

"How about never?" he asked nervously, but John picked up the glass. Here went...everything.

* * *

"You certainly seem relaxed today," Jess commented with a smile.

Sam's grin broadened as he shrugged. "Feel like pizza today?"

"Delivery?" Jess asked, feigning surprise. "Are we celebrating? No, wait, don't tell me. You called your brother. I take it the call went well?"

"We are going to see him New Year's," Sam announced.

Jessica's smile faltered. "New Year's? Uh, I thought you were inviting your brother here for Christmas?"

"He can't get away," Sam replied, not liking the turn in conversation. "We're invited for New Year's at Pastor Jim's cabin. It's way out in the woods. You'll love it."

A small frown creased her otherwise beautiful face. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I can't go. My roommates are throwing a huge New Year's party. I came over today to invite you."

Sam's shoulders slumped. "Can't you skip it? I'd really like you to meet my brother."

Jess eyed him silently for several moments and Sam recognized she was analyzing him. He fell back against his chair and waited for her to make The Observation.

"I think what you really want is a buffer," she announced slowly. "If I went, I would be a distraction and allow you conversation unrelated to the issues between you. No, I think you're better off going alone."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Jess. You won't be a buffer. I'd really like you to meet my family."

"Your family?" she asked, her face reflecting interest. "As in, your father will be there too?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly.

Her wide bright smile was disconcerting. "Then I am definitely not going. You three have a lot to discuss, I'm sure."

"Jess..." God, his voice sounded whiny even to Sam.

"But now that you don't have plans for Christmas," she said, her smile never wavering, "there's always room at our table. And my parents are dying to meet you."

Sam shrugged, pleased by the invitation. "I could do that."

"Now let's talk about your family," Jess insisted. "I want to help you to come up with some strategies to avoid the usual family conflicts."

He groaned, slumping deeper in his chair. "Do we have to?"

"Sam!" Jess laughed at him. "Come on, this is a good thing. And then I'll tell you all about my family. There are certain subjects you'll want to avoid. My dad kind of...gets carried away."

"Believe me, I know the type." Sam grinned a little for her. "How about we start with your dad?"

"How about we start with yours?" Jess insisted. "Now tell me about your dad. What kind of arguments do you usually have?"

Sam sighed heavily and shook his head. He would rather gnaw through his own leg than have this conversation. He had to be attracted to a psych major, didn't he?

* * *

"New Year's?" Jim asked, steepling his hands in front of him. "Well now, that doesn't exactly give us a lot of time, does it? You said Dean is an empath?"

"Yeah." John let out a deep sigh. "Kind of explains a lot, doesn't it?"

"It would seem to," Jim replied. "You know he always knew when you were lying? Or pretty much anyone else, for that matter."

John nodded and reached for his half-empty fifth of Jack. "Yep. I used to rely on Dean to let me know when anyone we interviewed was not telling the whole truth. I told myself he picked up on their body language, the way their eyes shifted, those kinds of things." He shrugged. "Guess I've just been foolin' myself for years."

"And why would you have assumed your son was an empath?" Jim demanded. "I've never known anyone more prone to self-doubt and blame than a Winchester." He rubbed at his temple, eyes resting on the knick-knacks in his windowsill. "Dean has also been overly sensitive to any admonishment by you. Perhaps it is related to his empathic abilities?"

"That's what his doctor and boss have been telling me," John replied with a Winchester-classic eyeroll.

"You said they have tested his mutant-ness?" Jim pressed. He would prefer Dean to simply be more sensitive than average, another reason the boy behaved and dressed with so much swagger to cover for it. But if Dean were truly a mutant Jim would accept this fact. Dean was part of God's good creation. If it were God's Will to make Dean Winchester a mutant, who was he to refuse to acknowledge the fact?

John's eyes dropped to his feet and his voice took on a heavy tone. "He has the mutant gene and it's dominant in Dean. Apparently it was only a matter of time before it went fully active. They tested me for it and I don't have it, but it doesn't rule me out as a recessive carrier."

"I don't suppose anyone has approached Sammy about this?" Jim asked gently, knowing what a landmine this subject was.

John simply shook his head. "I don't know how to tell him either, Jim. I remember the way Sam used to idolize his brother; to go from that to not speaking for over a year? I don't want to screw up this New Year's thing."

Regretfully, Jim had to agree. "There seem to be more important subjects of discussion in your family. I would think resolving the issues between you and Sam should be foremost. Discussing mutants ranks rather low in comparison."

John's gaze dredged up from the floor to Jim's face. "Really?" He sounded hopeful. "Uh, there is one other small, almost insignificant, tiny little detail that Dean wants me to bring up."

"Which is?" Jim asked.

John took a deep breath. "Uh, well, see, I kind of have another son..."

Jim's head dropped in defeat. He should have seen it coming when the black truck pulled up in his drive. Winchester issues could never be simple or straight-forward, could they?


	48. Chapter 48: Snapshots and Practice

This is a little longer than usual, but it's more of a general chapter to catch us up on what's happening with everyone and then show Dean practicing his new skill.

Chapter 48: **Snapshots and Practice**

A few of Dean's better students had been falling asleep in class since Thanksgiving. Were they bored with his class? Or was something else going on? Even Bobby Drake, who normally loved Urban Camo, had been napping this morning. However in Myths and Legends the kid had been wide awake as if his life depended on it.

Okay, so his life might depend on what he learned, but for a teenage boy to act like it? Yeah, there had to be more going on there.

"Bobby and Joe," Dean announced as the bell rang to end his first Myths and Legends for the day, "I want to talk to you."

Both boys were a little nervous as they approached his desk while their classmates bolted out the door for the next class.

"Joe." Dean glared hard at the brat before shaking his head sadly. "It looks like your detention time is finished. Dude, do not screw up like that again."

"Really?" He felt disappointed. "Already?"

Dean shrugged at his student. "But if you're a glutton for punishment, you can join me and Logan for a morning run any time."

"Thanks, Professor," Joe replied with a wide grin and oozing with relief. "I might do that."

Dean waved him out to focus on Bobby Drake. "What's going on, Bobby?"

Bobby gave him one of those wide-eyed innocent looks that pretty much guaranteed the person wearing it was lying. "Going on, Professor Hunter? What do you mean?"

"I mean you were sleeping during Camo this morning. Usually I have to kick you out of class. What's going on?" There was a bolt of fear in Bobby. "Are you having trouble sleeping at night?"

Bobby glanced around furtively as he adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. "Oh, uh, no. Nothing. Just a little tired, I guess."

Bobby was lying. Dean had no idea why, but the boy was clearly lying. He didn't need to be an empath to see that, it was obvious in his student's body language and tone of voice.

"Uh-huh." Dean crossed his arms over his chest. On one hand, he might be able to force Bobby to tell him what was going on, but there was no telling how much energy that could take. On the other hand, he wanted the kid to trust him. With a sigh, Dean pulled open his bottom desk drawer. It was full of salt canisters. He handed one over to Bobby. "Here. I won't make you tell me, but I can damn well make sure you're protected. I'll drop off some cans of spray paint this evening after my last class. If you want help painting some of the protection symbols inside your room, we can take care of it then."

Bobby hesitated before accepting the salt. "I'm going home for Christmas," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper. "What if my parents freak out over the symbols?"

"I've been working on that," Dean promised. "All of the kids going home for Winter Break will be assigned a second protection amulet, a jacket with the same protection symbol we used for the school embroidered on it, a blanket with the symbol, some posters disguised as movie or rock bands with additional protection symbols you can hang up in your room, and four or five salt canisters."

Bobby's fearfulness decreased. "Really? Do you think that'll be enough?"

"If it's not, you shouldn't be going home," Dean replied honestly. "Is there a reason you need to stay here?"

Another fearful spike blasted through Bobby but the kid shook his head. Crap. If Dean couldn't get positive proof Bobby needed to stay, and Bobby wouldn't admit to it, then he wouldn't have a valid reason for not allowing one of his favorite students to go home. All he would be able to do was give the boy every advantage he could think of. Dean decided if Bobby invited him to go along he would. Not much chance of that, though.

"Unless there's something you want to tell me, you'd better go. You'll be late for your next class," he said.

Bobby shrugged half-heartedly. "Math is next. I don't really care. It's not like I'll ever use it in real life."

Dean frowned at the boy. "You use math every damn day. How do you think I know how much gunpowder to buy to make my shotgun salt cartridges? Go on." He jerked his head at the door. "Unless there's more?" he asked hopefully.

Bobby shook his head, turning away slowly to trudge out the door. Poor kid was walking around like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he wouldn't let anyone in to help. What was Logan always saying? Damn kids.

* * *

"It sounds like Dean has offered forgiveness, John," Jim pointed out. "What's the problem?"

"He shouldn't have had to forgive me!" John argued. "I shouldn't have put all that on him." He sighed heavily. "He didn't deserve that," he mumbled, staring at a worn spot in Jim's rug.

"Did you deserve to lose your wife?"

Jim's words stabbed, piercing his soul. John dragged his eyes from the floor to the pastor's soft gaze and gentle smile.

"You couldn't do all you've done without help, John. God gave you Dean. Maybe it wasn't just because you wanted a child." The gentle smile remained but a sadness passed over his face, like a soft shadow. "Maybe it was because He knew what you would need. That you needed Dean."

"I shouldn't have..." His voice broke, failing him. Just as he had failed so horrifically as a father.

"Shouldn't have what, John?" Jim's voice was calm and soothing, so at odds with the turbulence John felt. "Shouldn't have had someone you could depend on, trust implicitly, and love? Sounds like the answer to a prayer to me." The gentle smile broadened ever so slightly. "Even if you never prayed for it. The Lord does not give what you want, He provides what you need."

"I needed Dean." John's voice was weak and rough, but the impact of his own words pressed upon him as he heard himself speak them. "I needed Dean." Louder this time, with more confidence. John's gaze dropped from Jim's face to the window where bright colors attracted his eye. He couldn't make out the name inscribed on the clay flask, but he knew who would make it. That meant Sammy made the ashtray. "I needed my children."

Now the air flowed freely into his lungs and John felt a terrible weight, the kind which bore down with the heaviness of the world, lift from his shoulders. Surprised, he turned back to his old friend.

"I need my children," John said with amazement. "Even now." Yes, he did. Not speaking with Sam, not knowing how his youngest fared, left a gaping hole in his heart. Not even Dean could fill that hole, as hard as his son tried. It wasn't Dean's fault, nor Sam's. It was because he was too stubborn to admit that he needed them, both of his children.

Real joy appeared in Jim's smile. "Yes. I'm sure you do. And you're fortunate, John, because you are being given another chance." He nodded in satisfaction before adding, "Don't blow it."

"Thanks." John chuckled, his heart lighter than it had felt in at least two decades. "I won't. Whatever happens, I'm not going to blow this."

"Good." Jim leaned back in his padded easy chair. "Let's discuss the kinds of arguments you and Sam normally have. Maybe we can discover a means for you to avoid the usual conflicts."

John nodded. That sounded like a reasonable request. "Let's bring Bobby in for this. He has a long memory when it comes to my arguments with my boys."

Jim chuckled. "He does have a soft spot for your sons. As do I." He nodded at the front hall. "I think you will find him in the library reading one of my newest acquisitions. I suspect I will need to perform a strip-search to be certain he leaves it here."

"I'll get him," John offered. Standing, he rested a hand on the kind pastor's shoulder until Jim reached up to give his hand a gentle squeeze. "You're better than some damn therapist."

Jim laughed, the sound warm and filling. "Go on, John. And make sure Singer isn't stealing pages from that book."

"Will do." John patted his friend's shoulder before heading out of the front room. They still had a lot of work to do, a lot to discuss, but it felt trivial. He would make things right with Sam. He was nearly there already with Dean. Things would be different from now on. John would make certain of it.

And then he would help Jim with that televangelist. Whatever it would take to protect his son from those anti-mutant psychos. Whatever it would take.

* * *

Charles Xavier frowned over Cerebro's report. The televangelist had a large party planned to thank his largest donors. This could be the opportunity they had been waiting for. If he could slip a team inside they would be able to see who these donors were and identify Stryker's support base. Yes, excellent.

He needed to discuss this with Hunter. If Hunter were not on board the plan's chances of success diminished exponentially.

There was a knock on the door to his study. "Enter," Charles called out, dropping the hard copy of the report into a drawer of his desk. It would not do for a student to catch sight of it.

Hank ambled in, the door barely wide enough for his massive shoulders. "Good afternoon, Professor," he said formally.

"Doctor," Charles greeted. "I don't believe we had planned on playing chess today. What brings you here?"

Hank nodded before perching on the reinforced sofa. "Unfortunately, I am not here for chess. A situation has been brought to my attention and it would be neglectful of me not to attempt to raise your awareness."

Startled by the good doctor's intensity, Charles rolled closer. "Then by all means, raise my awareness."

Hank locked gazes with him. "It's about the uniforms for the X-Men."

"What?" He probed Hank's surface thoughts. "Hunter came to you." Xavier shook his head. "I assure you, Hank, the young man is upset over nothing."

"I would disagree," Hank argued, his concern visible even with all that blue fur covering his face. "Hunter has brought up valid concerns with the brightness of the uniforms. They are eye-catching. Some might argue flamboyant. While the current uniforms may be esthetically pleasing, they are impractical. A dark matte black color, the less reflective the better, would be preferable. And safer."

"He could have come directly to me," Charles replied staunchly, refusing to acknowledge the valid points.

One of Hank's furry eyebrow twitched. "I believe he did."

"He was furious," Charles admitted. "Logan had just shown Hunter his uniform. Hunter claimed I was being irresponsible in dressing Logan in such bright colors, no matter how indestructible I thought Logan to be."

Hank said nothing, waiting patiently for him to continue.

"I do try to accept criticism Hank, you know that," Charles said. "But Hunter has not been with us very long."

"You allowed him to tear up the entire grounds of the Institute, but comments on the uniforms crossed a line?" Hank asked, incredulity in his voice.

"When you put it like that, you make me sound like an ass," Charles snapped. Again Hank just looked at him. "I will consider new uniforms," he promised, "but only because of the color."

"Good." Hank stood and took a paper from his pocket. "I found a new type of material under development by the military. It is lightweight, durable, shock-proof, equivalent to a bullet-proof vest for weapons up to forty-five caliber, and water-proof." He handed over his research. "It also comes in matte black."

Charles accepted the research. "I will look into it. Thank you, Doctor."

Hank nodded before leaving. Charles expected the good doctor to pause at the door and leave thought-provoking advice. Instead Hank simply left, clearly satisfied.

He studied the page in his hand, evaluating the attributes of the new material. It would make for excellent X-Men uniforms, he had to admit. Charles headed for the phone. He needed to make a few phone calls to determine the availability of the new material and if it could be ordered in specific colors. With the way this was shaping up, it would undoubtedly only be available in matte black. Brightening, Charles realized he could claim it was only available in black and thus side-step any admission to Hunter...

He stopped abruptly. Wasn't he the one always pushing for Hunter to be more confident? To show initiative? And what happened the first time the young man approached him? Charles practically threw his newest instructor out of his office.

And what did Hunter do? He recruited an ally in Hank. Charles felt the smile creasing his face as he stared down at the proof of Hunter's ability and tenacity. Charles would have to thank the young man, soon, for not giving up on this and proving what an invaluable asset to the team and the institute he was. Yes, Hunter was an excellent recruit, proving to be far better than Charles had dreamed. He would have to be more cautious the next time he felt like dismissing one of Hunter's ideas or suggestions. Clearly the young man was not one to be put off. With a father like John Winchester, he would have had to learn either not to have independent ideas or to be persistent. Persistence had obviously won out.

With a chuckle, Charles picked up the phone. He would order the new material in a matte black, the less reflective the better. There was no telling what Hunter might be driven to if he chose more bright colors, although it would undoubtedly prove to be most fascinating.

* * *

Sam chuckled over George's comment about their history professor. Since he and Dean started talking again his life hadn't felt as stressful. His classes were more enjoyable and his friends' jokes funnier.

"Looks like you have a package," George said with a hand wave at his door. "Coming over to watch the game tonight?"

"Sure," Sam promised. "Mind if Jess joins us later?"

George's eye-roll reminded him strongly of his brother. "Oh surprise, surprise." He chuckled loudly. "Yeah, Sam, you know it's fine. I'm going to study until it's time for the game."

"Right. I'll bring the beer!" Sam waved as they walked to their separate doors. The package in front of his door was slightly bigger than a shoebox and wrapped in brown shipping paper. Curious, Sam picked it up. It wasn't heavy or too light, there was definitely something inside. His brother's handwriting was scrawled across the top of the box.

Sam checked his watch. It was too early to call, Dean would be in class. He chuckled to himself over the irony as he unlocked the door. The package simply could not wait. Sam carried it directly to the kitchen and his handy steak knife. After slitting the paper so he could rescue the box inside, he popped one end of the box open. What the heck was that?

Light gray fabric with black accents emerged from the box. A lined wind breaker with a fancy X, no doubt for the Xavier Institute, dangled from one hand. Sam grinned at his gift until he noticed the large white symbol embroidered on the back. It was the protection symbol chosen for the supernatural lockdown on the school. What the hell?

Dumping the rest of the box's contents, Sam discovered two charms on silver chains, one marked 'for the girlfriend', and a letter.

_Dude,_

_Here's a few things we're designing for the students to use when they go home. Figured you could use it too. You have salt, right? Better start using it._

_Dean_

Now what brought all that on? Disturbed, Sam slipped one of the charms around his neck. Dean could have explained more in his letter, but maybe he held back so Sam would call. Cheered a little by the thought, he tried on the jacket. Not bad. He wondered if he could explain away the giant symbol on the back as belonging to his brother's school.

* * *

Dean had an hour break between his last class and Logan's intro hand-to-hand combat class. Typically he used the time to organize his stuff and then hit the gym for some warm-ups before Logan knocked the tar out of him.

Today he pulled out his cell to check for messages and it went off in his hand. Startled, Dean looked at the digital screen. It was Sam. Oh, the box must have arrived.

Rolling his eyes, Dean accepted the call. "Hey, Sammy. What's up?"

The loud aggravated huff through the phone never ceased to bring a smile to his face. "It's Sam, Dean. You know that. And what's up with the box?"

"I sent a note," Dean replied. "What do you think? Should they work?"

"You sent it to me for my opinion?" Sam asked. "Oh, uh, yeah. It should. The jacket is kind of overkill, but the charms are perfect. Silver, right?"

"Better believe it," Dean said. "They don't do second-class around here. I wanted the jackets to have a small symbol on the chest, you know - where you put your hand when say the pledge, but oh no, it might not be big enough." He chuckled. "That's what the promotions company we order through came up with. Too much?"

"Definitely," Sam replied with a laugh. "But yeah, they should protect anyone wearing it from damn near anything."

"That's the plan." Dean scooped up the ungraded homework from his lower desk drawer with the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder.

"Is that the only reason you sent this stuff to me?" Sam asked in a hesitant tone.

"Nope. I want you to use it," Dean stated, straight and to the point. This had damn well better work or he might have to drive across the whole frigging country to kick his brother's ass. "Dad says you're not laying out salt or anything out there. Sloppy, Sam."

Sam grunted and Dean could picture his little brother's classic bitch-face. "Dean, I'm not out hunting. I don't need protection."

"Like hell you don't," he snapped while slapping the sheaf of paper on his desk, instantly regretting his tone but unable to stop his tirade. "Dude, if something crawls out from under your bed or jumps out of a shadow and eats you, I swear I'll bring you back from the dead so I can kill you myself."

"Dean. That's one of the stupidest things you've ever said."

More bitch-face tone. He rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation.

"Wait," Sam said slowly. "You're worried? About me?" He sounded shocked.

"Duh, dude," Dean snapped. "Only your whole freaking life. Now are you gonna use it or do I have to drive over there and stuff that jacket permanently inside a significant body cavity?"

Sam's laugh was the last sound Dean expected. "I'm wearing it right now. The charm too." He chuckled again. "It's a good fit."

That was Sam-ese for 'thanks'. Dean allowed himself to relax. "And the salt?" he demanded.

"I have some and I'll hit a grocery store tomorrow. Happy?" Sam demanded.

"Frigging ecstatic," he muttered, tucking the papers to grade under one arm and walking out of his classroom. "Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?"

Sam laughed again. "Family trait?"

Dean had to chuckle at that. "Yeah, I blame Dad too."

* * *

Bobby Drake studied his half-painted symbol on the wall, next to the window. They were easier to draw by hand in class than spray-paint. Professor Hunter made it look easy as he painted large symbols where his and his roommate's beds went. His teacher hadn't said much since showing up with the spray-paint, just settling in to work.

It was weird for an authority figure who knew he was lying not to demand that he tell the truth. That didn't mean his teacher didn't keep pushing. Every time Professor Hunter opened his mouth he asked 'unless you want to tell me something' or an equivalent question, but even that didn't happen very often. Bobby kept shaking his head. It sounded stupid to say he was afraid of some guy he had only seen standing across the street. Once. It wasn't like he was being stalked. He was kind of freaked because it had happened right after that weird dream about the fire.

Those things were totally unrelated, Bobby assured himself. Coincidence. That's all. Just a stupid coincidence.

He glanced over at the sound of a bed being dragged across the floor. Professor Hunter set the beds on top of their respective symbols. Then the man stood beside him.

"Go on," he said with a nod at the wall, "finish it. I don't want to miss supper."

"Yes, sir," Bobby mumbled. Working with spray paint was a whole lot harder than those taggers made it look. His hand moved slow and steady as he pictured the symbol in his mind. When he finished, Bobby took a step back to check his work. "Is it right?"

Professor Hunter shrugged. "What do you think?"

Bobby looked up, wondering over the question. "I don't know. You're the teacher."

He shrugged again. "Not much of one if you don't know the answer to that." Professor Hunter turned around to walk away. "I'm hungry."

Bobby stayed behind for a minute, studying his symbol. He lifted his can of spray paint and darkened one of the lines, making it solid instead of dashed. "Now it's right." He set the can on the floor under the window.

Despite himself, Bobby looked out the window across the street. People walked in either direction on the sidewalk, no one looking his way or showing any interest in the school. He had half expected to see the man from the other night walking by. Bobby chuckled at his own paranoia until his gaze landed on the new symbol on his wall.

Professor Hunter hadn't called him paranoid or told him not to worry. No. Professor Hunter came to his room to personally help paint new protection symbols. Bobby swallowed hard with the realization, avoiding looking out the window again. Maybe his roommate wouldn't mind if he painted over the glass. Then again, maybe he wouldn't ask.

* * *

"What am I supposed to do?" Scott Summers asked, looking up at the sign for a local pool hall.

"Just play some pool," Hunter replied stiffly. "Look, this wasn't my idea, you know."

"I know." Scott shot him a stern look. "Professor X said you needed practice, but he wasn't talking about pool, was he?"

Hunter shook his head. "We figured your weirdo shades should stand out more in a place like this. I'm supposed to keep anyone from noticing."

"And all I need to do is play pool?" Scott asked dubiously. "Nothing else?"

"Just don't do anything to intentionally attract attention," Hunter replied. "Stand still for a second."

Scott froze in place only a step away from Hunter. Hunter seemed to stare at nothing right in front of him. Then he rolled his shoulders slowly, still staring at nothing. A tingling sensation was Scott's first warning, then all the hair on his right arm stood straight up as if the air next to him were highly charged. Hunter frowned and rolled his shoulders again. The tingling sensation swept across Scott's body, from right to left. A shiver ran through him at the thought of the raw energy it would take to make all the hairs on his body stand out. Then it settled, although he could swear the air around him still felt charged.

"Okay, I think we're good." Hunter reached for the door. "But there's only one way to know for sure."

This was Hunter's training exercise so Scott followed quietly. When Hunter motioned for him to go stand by an empty pool table, presumably to claim it, he followed the suggestion. Oddly, the sensation of being surrounded by a high level of raw energy did not change even when they were on opposite sides of the room. He was joined a few minutes later. Hunter popped some quarters into the slots in the side of the table to release the balls.

Hunter racked the balls for them while Scott chose a couple of pool cues. He handed one over. Hunter rolled it on the table before nodding silently.

"Your break," he told Scott. "We'll play straight pool, nothing fancy. You don't have to call your shots unless you want to."

"Uh, thanks." Scott wasn't sure if he should be insulted by that or take it as Hunter leveling the playing field. Considering how well the man played cards, it shouldn't surprise him if Hunter was a pool shark as well.

The pool cue snapped into the white ball which shot into the colored balls. The other balls bounced all around the table but not one fell into a pocket. Damn. He reluctantly glanced at Hunter.

Hunter chuckled shaking his head. "Oh, dude. Are you for real?"

Scott gave a self-conscious shrug. "I've only played on the table in the rec room. I guess this is my first real game."

Hunter's eyes rolled all around before he lined up a shot. "No matter what I do, I wind up teaching." He sighed heavily and looked up. "One ball, bank off the far side, corner pocket." His arm snapped forward knocking the cue ball into the yellow ball. The yellow ball ricocheted off the far side before falling neatly into the corner pocket.

"Weren't you supposed to call which corner pocket?" Scott asked, wondering if there was a way to salvage any hope of winning this game.

His eyes rolled again. "Fine, your turn. You're stripes, by the way. Don't worry about sinking them in order, if you see a decent shot go for it."

"In order?" Scott had no idea what he meant by that.

Hunter grunted, which sounded an awful lot like Logan. "Just play." He waved at the table.

After the next few shots Scott realized Hunter was taking it easy on him. It could have been embarrassing except Hunter bought the first round of beers and then offered to split an order of wings with him, like they were actually friends. They weren't, Scott wasn't dumb enough to believe it would be that easy, but at least he acted like they were amiable coworkers.

They played four games of pool before calling it a night and by the time it was over Scott was actually enjoying himself. During the last game Scott realized he felt perfectly at ease, then he understood why. No one looked at him strangely. Not one person had asked him about wearing sunglasses indoors. There hadn't been a single comment about the weirdo at the corner table.

"Well?" Hunter demanded as they stepped outdoors.

Scott couldn't help the broad smile on his face. "That was great."

Hunter nodded, checking his watch. "Took you long enough to loosen up."

The smile fell quickly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you are seriously uptight." Hunter took a deep breath and Scott felt his skin tingle again, this time fading to nothing. His skin was left feeling completely normal, the residual sensation of static electricity gone.

"I'm not that uptight," Scott argued, running his hand over his arm. His skin felt strange now without Hunter's energy shield around him.

Hunter snorted as he pulled out his car keys. "Like hell you're not." He chuckled, the sound amused instead of derisive. "Dude, you're worse than my brother."

"Would that be Sam?" Scott asked, mentioning the name he had been wanting to ask about. "Isn't he the one whose letters you torment Logan with over breakfast?"

Hunter smirked in the yellow glow from the streetlight. "That's the one."

"I have not been able to figure out why he puts up with that," Scott commented, his curiosity getting the better of him.

His companion shrugged as he unlocked the big black car. "He'd better or I won't be the punching bag in his intro class."

Scott settled into the passenger seat considering Hunter's statement. "Somehow I have the feeling there's more to it than that." He pulled his door closed. Hunter backed out and headed for home in silence.

"You and Logan make a good team," he observed. "But this new recon assignment, I don't think you can go in together."

"Wouldn't look right," Hunter said in agreement. "You gotta love the guy, but he's not exactly polished. Unless we set him up to be some kind of eccentric millionaire, he'd be better off parking cars or working the bar at the party."

"I can see Logan behind a bar," Scott replied with a nod. "So you think we need to set ourselves up as the help? It would be easier than trying to set up several different fake donors. And cheaper."

"Definitely. Plus nobody pays attention to the person delivering your food." The fingers of Hunter's right hand tapped against the wheel. "We'll need a high profile donor to attract the bastard's attention. Storm would be perfect."

"Storm? Not by herself?" Scott asked.

"Nah, not alone. We'll give her a husband, a guy who is around strictly to fetch her purse, drive her car, and is willing to put up with the worst attitude to live the lifestyle," he replied.

"And who would that be?" Scott asked, dumbfounded. "Not Xavier?"

Hunter shot him a hard look. "If this guy is that into mutants, he probably already knows who the professor is, so no, he's out. I was thinking of me."

"You?" Scott laughed, he couldn't help himself. "You? Married to Storm? No way. You'll make yourself pass out trying to pull that off."

"Hundred bucks," Hunter stated with confidence, sticking his hand out.

Scott grasped it, secretly overjoyed to be treated like one of the guys. "You're on."


	49. Chapter 49: Date: Blues Club

A little schmoop before we hit the big recon mission. And some insight into why Libby hates that nickname and why Dean assumed she likes it.

Chapter 49: Date: **Blues Club**

Dean checked his hair in the men's room mirror. Again. He straightened his solid white shirt and wondered if he should wear a tie tonight. Blues club. Nah, a tie would make him look too stiff. Man, he hoped Libby liked blues or this evening would be a total bust.

The door to the restroom opened and Summers walked in. He paused behind Dean at the sinks. "Hot date?"

Dean cleared his throat nervously before stating, with confidence, "Yeah."

Summers shrugged at him in the mirror. "Have fun." He headed for the stalls. The guy had been a whole lot more tolerable since their pool hall exercise.

Dean took a deep breath and gave himself a confidence-building look in the mirror and a thumb's up. Reassured, he left the bathroom to head for the corridor which led to the garage. He and Libby had agreed to meet in the garage to cut down on rumors. There had been a barrage of questions in all of his classes this week about him and Libby going to the movies. They weren't planning on making that mistake again.

Then again, the fact they had been eating dinner together nearly every evening in the cafeteria hadn't helped stop the rumor mill. It was a good thing no one saw them yesterday evening. Poor Libby. When he dropped by the library today he noticed that the skin around her mouth and on her cheeks was chapped. His fault. He rubbed a hand over the light stubble on his face and contemplated shaving it all off. But if he went back now, he would be late meeting her in the garage. Crap.

Dean increased his pace. If Libby wanted him to shave, then she might not mind waiting for him another fifteen minutes, but he had to ask her first. She stood next to his car wearing her usual mousy beige with large floral print dress. Tonight the flowers were blue. There was something about her not looking half-dressed that was rather sexy. Dean jogged over to her.

"Hey, I hope you weren't waiting long." Dean checked his watch. He wasn't late. As a matter of fact, he still had a couple of minutes.

Libby grinned at him. "I'm early, don't worry about it. Ready? I'm excited. I've never been to a blues club." A frown appeared. "Come to think of it, I've never been to any club. What should I expect?"

Dean smiled. She wasn't kidding, Libby was all kinds of excited and nervous. Her face looked different than it had earlier, not as chapped. He reached out to run a finger along her cheek. "I was thinking that I needed to shave."

She glared at him. "You'd better not. I like you like this." There was a glint in her eye as she said it.

"Does this mean you'll wear your hair down if I ask?" Dean asked, pulling open the passenger door.

Libby grinned. "Only after you pull out the knot."

"Is that a challenge?" Dean asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

Libby beamed at him. "You bet."

Dean closed her door and hurried around to the driver's side. "This is going to be great," he muttered to himself. "I hope there's a decent band tonight."

* * *

The club was smoke free, which at first seemed to be at odds with the fact it was a blues club, but after a while Dean forgot. The music was good and the company was even better.

"You've really never been to any kind of club before?" Dean asked.

Libby shook her head. "I had no idea what to wear." She motioned at her librarian dress. "I feel totally underdressed."

Dean shook his head at her and scooted his chair closer so he could hear her better. "Don't. There's nothing wrong with what you're wearing."

She motioned to some of the other women here. "Look how dressed up they are. I just... I don't..." Libby sighed and cut her eyes at him. "I'm not asked out very often. Sorry."

"Want to dance?" Dean asked, hoping to change the subject. He doubted he could tell her that there was nothing wrong with the way she dressed, but perhaps showing her would be more effective.

Libby cast a glance at the nearly empty dancefloor. "It doesn't look like people really dance to the blues."

"Ah," Dean waved off the suggestion. "They just need someone to get them started." The band started a new song, a decent rendition of George Thorogood's 'Get a Haircut'. "Come on," he insisted.

Dean had to drag her from the table out to the dance floor. She barely moved to the music, constantly glancing around to be certain no one was watching them. Dean stopped dancing and held her by the shoulders.

"Close your eyes," he ordered. She looked around again. "Don't worry about them, just listen to me. Close your eyes." With a last wary look at him, Libby shut her eyes. Dean gave his shoulders a slow roll, releasing some of the pent-up energy directly into Libby. Once he was certain the energy was where he wanted it, he moved her gently from side to side in time with the music.

"Listen to the words," he whispered in her ear, pressing his cheek against hers. "This is a funny one."

Libby kept her eyes closed for the rest of the song, a broad smile on her face by the end and her arms wrapped around his neck as her body moved in time with his. She wasn't a bad dancer for a beginner. When her eyes opened and applause for the band filled the club, Dean smiled back at her.

"Want to try it again?"

The band seemed partial to George Thorogood, which was fine with Dean. They danced to a couple more songs, Libby feeling more confident and relaxed the longer they were out there. When they walked off the floor, hand in hand, she wore a beaming smile.

"That was amazing," Libby gushed. "I've done anything like that before!"

"Oh, come on," Dean teased, holding out her chair. "You went to prom, right?"

Libby shook her head, eyes pinned to him as he sat beside her. "Nope. Nobody asked me." She giggled suddenly and a spark of excitement tore through her.

"What?" Dean asked curiously.

Libby shook her head again. "It's silly. Nothing."

"Where did you go to school?" he asked. "At the Institute?"

"Oh, no," Libby replied. "I'm not sure Professor Xavier was recruiting students yet. Just a regular public school." She giggled again, a sly look creeping on to her face and that rush of excitement rising.

"Okay, what?" Dean demanded. "That's the second time you've done that."

Libby fiddled with the napkin under her glass. "Well, I was just thinking about the kind of reactions I'd get if..." Her cheeks flushed bright pink and her head ducked down.

"If what? Come on, I promise not to tease you about it." Whatever it was had Libby all in knots and his curiosity was about to drive him nuts.

"Promise?" she asked.

"Hey, you have much better dirt on me," Dean protested. When she gave him a questioning look, like she didn't know what he was referring to, he said, "Movies?"

"Oh." She waved dismissively before her brows drew together. "Actually, that's a good point. All right." Libby sat up a little straighter. "I'd love to see the reactions I'd get if you went with me to my high school reunion."

"Your...reunion," Dean repeated slowly. She wanted arm-candy? Crap. And here he thought she was different from those bar skanks.

"Yes," Libby sighed dramatically. "I was voted least likely to have a relationship outside of a book."

A sharp laugh escaped. "I went to at least a dozen high schools and I didn't know that was a category," Dean replied with a grin.

She frowned and shook a finger at him. "You promised not to tease."

His grin widened. "That was before I knew how juicy it was."

Libby groaned, resting her cheek against her palm. "The yearbook committee invented the new category just for me."

Dean winced. "Ouch."

Libby nodded, her eyes flaring with indignation. "Tell me about it. I even had a couple of so-called friends on the committee. They thought it was really funny." Her fingers drummed on the table for a moment while a far-off look came into her eyes and old emotional wounds reopened. Then Libby shook her head, the emotional pain disappearing with the action. "But the best revenge is to prove them wrong. Right?"

"Right," Dean agreed readily even though he had no idea where this was headed.

Her gorgeous multi-colored eyes met his. "I don't suppose you'd go with me? I mean, I know we've only been on a couple of dates, and it's not like you've asked me out again, yet, but..." Libby stopped and a curious look came over her face. "But you know what? Screw them."

Dean peered at her with no little surprise. That had been pretty much exactly what he had been thinking.

"I'm not going," Libby continued in a strong voice with a slap on the table. "I don't care what they think about me now, and I shouldn't have cared back then." A bright, brilliant smile lit her face. "Wow. That feels good."

He wasn't sure if he should congratulate her or what, and he was totally baffled about how all that came on.

"Next song you like, let's dance," Libby told him. "I never liked dancing before, but tonight I want to." She grinned. "I have a feeling this is all your fault."

"M-my fault?" How could it be his fault when he never managed to squeeze in more than a word?

Her eyes sparkled when she smiled. "Maybe that wasn't the best word. How about, thanks to you?"

"I didn't say anything," Dean protested.

She was still grinning. "You didn't have to." The band played a slow song and couples made their way to the floor. "Ready?"

Relieved he had something to do other than figuring Libby out, Dean stood and offered her his hand. With the same beaming smile, she stood and walked with him out to the floor. While slow dancing, Dean had the opportunity to pull Libby close to him, press their bodies together. They seemed to fit together like matching puzzle pieces. Her beaming smile made him grin back at her. She was definitely enjoying herself.

As they walked back to the table, Dean wondered if she was expecting 'more' tonight, because at the moment he could really go for 'more'. Then again, in a non-one-night-stand way, was it too early for 'more'?

"You know I used to move around a lot. Constantly," he figured there was no round-about way of broaching the topic. "So, uh, how long are we supposed to wait?"

Her beaming smile slipped and Libby felt confused. "Wait for what?" She peered at him.

Crap. Dean waved a hand between them. "You know."

The skin between her eyebrows furrowed deeply and she concentrated hard, then her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened in a small 'o'. "Really?"

Thank God, she understood. Dean nodded.

"Oh. Uh. A month," she said quickly, feeling slightly panicked.

"A month." Dean nodded again. He could do a month. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. "Always a month?"

"Y-yes?" Libby looked like she would prefer the ground to open up and swallow her whole rather than have this conversation. He had a theory about that, but Dean wasn't going to press the issue. Not in public.

"Want some more wine?" he asked, glancing around for their server.

"I'd prefer a beer," she told him.

"Really?" Dean grinned at her. "Lady, I like you more all the time."

"You'd better," Libby said in a teasing tone, her embarrassment falling away in favor of her normal personality.

Their next round out on the dance floor, Dean noticed several guys staring openly at Libby. He checked out her dress again. It was still the same mousy beige with blue flowers and it was still loose and frumpy. Well, maybe they were librarian groupies or something. The world was full of all kinds. Dean decided to stick close to Libby while they were here.

When she left their table Dean saw two guys follow her towards the restrooms. Uh-oh. Dean jumped up like he had springs in his ass and rushed to stand outside the ladies. The two guys who had followed her only needed a little encouragement, in the form of a simple glare, to go back to their tables. Maybe he crossed over into the freaking twilight zone. Rod Serling's voice-over should start any second.

Then Libby walked out and it all made sense. Especially when she smiled at him.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a light voice as one hand wrapped through the crook of his arm. "Miss me?"

Dean smiled back. "Terribly."

Libby laughed lightly as she let him lead her back to their table. "You are so smooth. I'd bet you could have any woman in this place falling all over you, couldn't you?"

A tremor of fear ran through her emotions when she asked.

"What's the fun in that?" he asked honestly. "Could you shake your head for me?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "No way."

He pulled a bunch of hairpins from his shirt pocket with a big smile. Libby gave her head a strong shake and the formerly tight knot gave way, dark blond hair flying everywhere. She rested her chin in her palm after they sat at their table. "Better?"

He copied her pose. "Much."

"Why am I here?" she asked. He searched her emotions, screening out those of strangers. It was difficult at first, until he found the ones that felt like her. Her eyes were wide and her speech slow and careful. She was curious and a little scared.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

Her arm dropped to rest on the table and she glared at him. "Why do you keep asking me out? I just told you that you'll have to wait at least a month for an overnighter. And it's not like I'm pretty."

"You are pretty," Dean argued instantly.

"Shut up and let me finish," Libby snapped. "My point is, you could do a lot better than me. Why do you want to go out with me?"

Dean's chin was still resting in his palm, with his elbow propped on the table. "You're drunk already?" he asked, amused. "Two drinks? Really?"

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked in a surly voice. "And I don't like the name Libby, while we're at it."

Dean had to chuckle at her surliness. "What am I supposed to call you? The Librarian? That has about as much personality as that wall." He nodded towards the far wall, which was a solid green.

Libby scowled at the far wall before glaring at him. "I have a lot more personality than that," she declared loudly.

Dean grinned. "Yep. That's why you're a Libby."

"Libby makes me think of canned vegetables," she argued with a sour face.

Dean laughed out loud at that. "Libby, Libby, Libby on the label, label, label! Oh, I totally forgot about that commercial. No wonder!"

"No wonder what?" Libby asked suspiciously.

"No wonder you keep saying you don't like it." Dean grinned at her. "But you do like it, don't you?"

Libby sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I like whatever you call me."

"Really?" Dean scooted his chair around the table, closer to her. "So if I called you something really stupid, like sweetie-pie?" He felt the same charge from her as when he called her Libby.

"You're not going to start calling me that, are you?" Libby demanded.

Dean chuckled at her and shook his head. "Nah. I think I'll stick with Libby."

She blew out a large breath, the strands of hair hanging in her way lifting off temporarily to hover in the air a moment before drifting back into her face. Dean gently brushed them to the side. "How about some food?"

"Okay. But what's wrong with Elizabeth? That's my name."

Dean handed her one of the menus, giving himself some time to think it over. "You don't really act like an Elizabeth. Maybe a Lizzie."

She scowled darkly. "Forget it," Libby mumbled, eyes dropping to her menu. "I'll learn to live with Libby."

A cursory glance at the menu assured Dean this place served burgers, which was perfect. He could eat a couple. Dean swept the club again with an evaluating gaze. There were still several guys watching Libby. Frigging great. He hoped she wouldn't think he was being an ass when she kept finding him waiting on her outside the restrooms because he really didn't care for the way they were looking at her.

After she had some food in her Libby acted more like her regular self, although a bit more relaxed. It was fun hanging out with a relaxed Libby, live band, good music and food.

"We should do this more often," Dean said, not realizing he said it aloud until Libby leaned against his side.

"I'm usually available," Libby told him with a grin.

* * *

Feeling light on her feet and having a deliriously good time, Libby reluctantly agreed when it was time to go, but only because the club was closing. While Dean remained at the table to pay their bill Libby headed for the ladies room.

When she came out she fully expected to find Dean standing outside the ladies room door waiting for her. Instead there was a nice looking man with an easy smile. His eyes locked on her and his smile broadened, like he had been waiting for her. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened.

She tried to walk by, but the stranger stood in her way. "Excuse me," Libby tried.

The man was still smiling at her and it gave her a queasy feeling. "I'm surprised that guy you're with isn't here," he told her. "He's kind of possessive, isn't he?"

Not that she hadn't thought the same thing, but Libby had been rather enjoying all the attention. "He's my boyfriend." She tried to walk around him again and again he moved in her path. Irritated, she glared at this man. "Excuse me," she said firmly.

The man took a step closer to her. "You could do better, you know. Your boyfriend looks like a real loser."

That tore it. "And what would you know about it?" Libby demanded, her voice rising with her anger. "I mean, I've never seen you before! Who the hell are you to judge me or my life!"

His eyes widened and he stumbled back a step. Libby raised a hand to shake a finger at him, her 'keep it down or leave' librarian training coming out in full force. Many people didn't know it, but librarians and kindergarten teachers were not to be trifled with.

"Listen up, buddy. No one asked your opinion and no one wants it." She walked directly at him as he continued to back up. She never could figure out if it was the tone of her voice that made this work or perhaps people honestly didn't think she had a temper to lose, but it was pretty rare that she couldn't make someone back down. "So I suggest you crawl on back home and stop bothering women using the restroom. I wondered why my boyfriend had been standing guard out here all night. Clearly it was because there are cretins like you!"

He backed into a solid object. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't a table. It was Dean. The guy spun around to find her boyfriend glaring imposingly at him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

"Problems?" Dean demanded in a slow deep voice which promised pain and violence.

Libby relaxed at the sight, relieved the cavalry had arrived. "Not now. This asshole was just leaving." She added her glare to Dean's until the creep rushed out of the club.

Dean held up her purse and the hard look faded. "You forgot this."

"Thanks." Libby tried to take it from him but Dean wouldn't release it.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a gentle voice. As much as his other voice had promised divine retribution, this one was sweet words and soft kisses.

Libby smiled at him and leaned into his side. "I'm perfect."

His arm tightened around her shoulders. "Good, because I feel like pie."

Libby laughed. "You always want pie."

"Is that a no?"

She gazed up into his sparkling eyes. Now how could she say no to that? "I'd love some pie."

"That's my girl." Dean beamed at her. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd help me out with a new project? It's called Common Sense Self-Defense."

She gave him a suspicious look. "You're kidding?"

Dean shook his head as they crossed the nearly empty parking lot for his car. "It's a seminar I'm going to be giving. I think Xavier wants to send me around for free, like a goodwill tour."

"And you want my help? With the research?" Libby asked.

Dean held open the passenger door for her. "More along the lines of demonstrations." He waited until she was seated inside the car to lean in. "It would mean hours of practice." His breath was warm and soft, his lips so close to hers.

"Okay." She didn't even know what he wanted, but at the moment there was no way she could say no.

"Thanks." He gave her the kind of kiss that made her glad she was sitting and sorry he wasn't, because it ended too quickly for her tastes.

"Now let's get that pie!" He smiled triumphantly as he closed her door.

Libby decided then and there that Life was much, much better with a boyfriend like Dean around.


	50. Chapter 50: High Class Recon

Chapter 50: **High Class Recon**

Charles Xavier swept his gaze over his people in their various outfits and it suddenly occurred to him that infiltration could be considered urban camouflage. Of course that made it perfectly fitting Hunter had so much input in the operation.

The video cameras hidden within the waitstaff uniforms and on Hunter and Storm tested beautifully. Storm looked like a real princess in her designer dress. Hunter was actually presentable. Charles had to admit, the young man cleaned up well.

"All right, people," he announced loudly, "this is simply an information gathering exercise. You are all wearing the small radios which fit inside your ear?" Charles waited for nods from everyone. "Good. Cyclops is mission leader. If he pulls the plug, you all leave no questions asked. Until that point, or the party is over, aim your cameras at as many faces as possible. We know who is behind the anti-mutant movement, now we need to know who is supplying the money. By identifying his financial backers we may be able to at least cripple his support. Scott?"

Charles yielded the floor for Summers to address the assembled team. Scott stepped forward. He wore black dress pants, white dress shirt and a short red jacket identifying him as waitstaff or a valet.

"I don't expect to have any problems on this mission," he began confidently. "Those of us working the party need to leave in about five minutes to help set things up. Hunter and Storm will arrive in about an hour and a half, fashionably late. By the time they arrive, I expect to have video on most if not all of the early arrivals. Hunter and I suspect there will be a second room for a private gathering of the larger donors, so everyone keep your eyes peeled for any sign of that.

"Hunter, care to brief us on her highness?" Scott moved aside to give Hunter the floor.

Hunter stepped forward, exuding class and confidence. "Storm will be posing as Her Royal Highness Sera, Crown Princess of Maldova. Maldova is a fictional country in Africa which has oil reserves comparable to Kuwait. We have set up some very impressive and official looking websites for the government of Maldova, as well as their official news service which is very concerned with the crown princess traveling outside their borders.

"Now none of this will stand up under close scrutiny, but it should work for a cursory check during the party," Hunter continued. "Our goal is to be invited into that inner circle so we can find out who the big donors are." He stepped back beside Storm with a nod to Scott.

"Any questions?" Scott asked. Logan nodded at the team lead. "Yes, Logan?"

"Can I get in on the bet? Twenty on Hunter," Logan said.

"What bet?" Charles asked, noticing Hunter's smile and Scott's scowl.

"I've seen those two in action," Jean announced. "There is no way they can pull off being married. I'll take that bet." She and Logan shook on it.

Scott made a show of looking at his watch. "We should leave now. Okay team, let's move out!"

* * *

Scott managed to secure the position of valet, which made it fairly simple for him to video new arrivals. Of course he could not park every car driven to the party, but he was one of only three valets so he should be able to shoot videos of at least a third of the party-goers.

He walked back to the valet stand as Xavier's little-used Ferrari pulled up. Scott rolled his eyes at the sight. Of course Hunter would want the Ferrari. Hunter jumped out of the driver's side, closing the door gently, before walking around to the passenger door. He stopped to straighten his jacket and tie before opening the door. Hunter held out a hand and stood patiently while Storm turned in the seat to slip her feet out of the car. When she was in position, she grasped his hand and allowed him to pull her from the vehicle. Then Storm walked ahead of him while Hunter closed the car door, not even sparing a glance back at her supposed-husband. He hurried to catch up with her and Scott thought this was it, there was no way anyone would believe they were married acting like this.

Storm ignored the valet stand, striding purposefully towards the front doors. Hunter paused at the valet with a small smile to offer the ignition key to one of the other attendants. He leaned over to whisper in the guy's ear before rushing up to Storm.

She motioned impatiently at the bouncer standing guard outside the front door. "He wants the tickets," Storm declared in a haughty tone.

Hunter frowned, patting down his pockets. "Don't you have them?"

One hand lifted to rest on her hip as she glared at Hunter. "If I had them I would have used them." She said it like he was the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.

"Baby," he said in a soothing tone, "you asked me for the tickets in the car. I gave them to you and you put them in your purse."

Storm looked down at herself before glaring at Hunter. "Do I look like I am carrying a purse?"

"You left it in the car." Hunter sighed and a smile which showed this to be a common occurrence appeared.

"I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding," he told the guard at the front door. "Would you mind terribly if Her Highness, the Princess Sera, waited just inside the doors while I retrieve our tickets? It won't take a minute and I don't want her catching cold standing out here without a coat."

The guard shrugged and opened the door. Storm smiled broadly as she walked by Hunter, one hand reaching out to caress the side of his face. "Thank you, darling."

The moment Storm's hand dropped away, Hunter turned around to rush back to the car. Oddly, the valet stood beside the car watching Hunter and Storm.

"Forgot something, right?" the young man called out to Hunter.

Hunter glanced over his shoulder to check that Storm was indoors before replying, "Always. Thanks for waiting. It's such a pain in the ass to chase the valet down in the parking lot."

The young valet let out a long whistle. "But worth it, right?"

Hunter retrieved the supposedly forgotten purse from the passenger seat. He grinned and winked. "Better believe it." He gave the valet a wave with the purse before trotting back to the front door.

The tickets were handed over while Hunter barraged the guard with questions about if the princess would be formally announced and where they would be seated. The guard grunted and shook his head, he only stood outside and took the tickets, directing Hunter to speak with the host just inside who was responsible for seating them. Hunter thanked the man before hurrying through the door.

Crap. Scott just lost a hundred bucks. He pressed a hand against his ear to activate his microphone. "The lovebirds are in the nest."

* * *

Ororo was highly impressed with how well Hunter played his part. First the 'fiasco' with the tickets and now he badgered the poor greeter with their seating requirements. It couldn't be drafty or too close to the kitchen but not far from the servers, only personages of equal or higher ranking than her highness could share their table although a private table was always preferred, and surely the chairs were padded?

She nearly laughed at this question, potentially blowing their assignment. Quickly covering her mouth with one hand, she pretended to cough.

"It's the draft from the front door," Hunter insisted quickly. "Are you going to seat us before or after the princess comes down with pneumonia?"

The host staff scurried to lead them through a richly decorated dining hall. One hand wrapped through the crook of Hunter's arm, Storm walked as pompously as she dared. Once he reached up with his free hand to pat the hand holding his arm and she toned it down. At the table Hunter held out her chair. Storm sat slowly, surveying the room. They had been seated against the center of the far wall with an excellent view of the entire room. Had they been allowed to choose their table this would have been it. She would not put it past Hunter to have arranged for this table.

He smiled broadly at her as he sat and lifted one of her hands to his lips, sweetly kissing the back. "Married enough for you?" he muttered under his breath.

"Absolutely," she whispered, leaning in so no one would overhear them. "If this works properly, Jean owes me twenty dollars."

His grin widened. "You went cheap. Summers is going to owe me a hundred."

She laughed loudly, tossing her head and intentionally drawing attention from nearby tables. "How long?" Ororo asked quietly with a broad smile.

"Soon." Hunter leaned forward to rest his elbow on the table with his chin in his palm, gazing at her like a love-struck teen or a man so enamored with his wife he would do anything for her. She found herself wishing she could be on the receiving end of this kind of attention for real. "They have to notice you," he told her with a wink.

"Oh, then you do like the dress." She slowly shifted her gaze across the room, wondering how boring this silly party would be. Affairs like this were all show and no action. Men and women dressed in their finest to sit around eating bad food and bragging about either their children or the pets they treated better than their children.

"Absolutely amazing," he stated in a normal voice, causing her to glance around again.

A man in a tasteful though not ridiculously expensive suit approached their table. "I beg your pardon," he said politely with a shallow bow, "but do I have the pleasure of addressing Princess Sera of Maldova?"

"That's correct," Hunter replied in a stern voice. "And you are?"

A second bow proceeded his explanation. "Reverend Stryker extends his greetings and offers an invitation to join him at his private party, reserved for only the most important guests. I will escort you."

Hunter leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Give me permission to take you back there."

Ororo leaned away from him to stare at the man standing next to their table. "It's about time." She made a motion to Hunter who scrambled from his seat to stand behind her chair. "We were beginning to wonder if the good reverend knew we had arrived."

Hunter pulled her chair out of the way as she stood. She placed a hand on his extended arm. "We are ready."

"Uh, the invitation was for the princess, not her bodyguard," the man replied. "I can assure you, you are perfectly safe here."

While feeling confident she could handle herself with this crowd, Ororo decided it would be better to have Hunter with her to help maintain their story. She wrapped both arms around his, hugging his right arm to her body, and moved close enough to rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm afraid not. My husband is a bit too protective to allow me to leave with a stranger, aren't you darling?"

A large hand rubbed soothingly along her arm. "It's all right, baby," he said in a low voice the man standing only a couple of feet away was sure to hear. "We can go back to the hotel if you want."

"No, no, no," the man protested. "My apologies, I didn't realize. Please, you are both welcome. The reverend will be delighted to meet the princess and her husband."

"Are you certain?" she demanded in an imperial tone, not yet lifting her head from Hunter's shoulder.

"Positive," he replied. "Please, follow me."

"What do you think, darling?" she asked, lifting her head to look at her 'husband'.

Hunter shrugged at her. "You wanted to meet him, but we can leave any time you want."

She sighed as if unused to making important decisions. "Any time I want?"

His smile made it a promise. "Any time you want, even if I have to go through the wall."

She nodded and heard the man waiting to escort them sigh in relief. People who offend royalty should be made to suffer, at least a little.

"Jean better pay up," he muttered under his breath as they followed the man in the suit.

She smiled and winked at him, her hand clutching the crook of his arm. They passed through the center of the main room by the bar. She could feel Logan's eyes on them.

Logan's voice saying 'Lovebirds in flight' came through the radio in her ear. She reached up as if to scratch her ear and pressed the tiny button to set her radio to transmit only. A few moments later the man led them through a hallway. Hunter lifted his right arm, which she still held, to set his radio to transmit as well. He tossed her a wink when he lowered his arm. She could almost feel his utter confidence.

Their escort opened a door a few feet down the hall to reveal a smaller and more extravagant dining room. Real crystal and white bone-china adorned a table covered in fine white linen. The chairs were upholstered with white brocade. The whole room, while elegant, was too clean, too bright white. It was unnerving. Ororo forced a smile on her face.

"May I introduce..." began their escort when Hunter cut him off abruptly with a loud clearing of his throat.

He marched her to the empty seats at the far end of the table. "This is Her Royal Highness, the crown princess of Maldova, Princess Sera. The Princess shall be addressed as Your Highness or, if she allows, Princess or Princess Sera." Hunter pulled out the chair at the end of the table where no one could sit directly beside her. "Her Highness thanks you for the invitation," he said as she sat, "and your courtesy."

A man with tall white hair and an unpleasant expression sat at the other end of the table. Ororo looked at him with curiosity, nothing more. He frowned as Hunter moved to stand behind her.

"I believe I extended the invitation only to the princess," he said slowly. "I'm afraid I don't care much for bodyguards, ma'am."

"You will address Her Highness properly," Hunter snapped.

She waved a hand and he fell silent. "My apologies. I'm afraid my husband is rather protective of my person. Perhaps too much so." A warm hand landed on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "He is always being mistaken for a bodyguard." Ororo looked up at Hunter with a smile. "But then again, perhaps our host is perceptive, darling. After all, that is how we met."

His eyes were locked on the far end of the table and his face was cold. At first she thought he might have gone too far with the protectiveness act until she also looked at their host again. Stryker appeared to be studying them, mulling things over.

"My apologies for the mistake," Stryker said slowly. "I saved you a seat here," he patted the table near the empty place setting by his right hand, "so we could talk."

"The princess sits at the head of the table," Hunter declared, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly on her shoulder. He was certainly playing his part to the hilt. "You may sit by Her Highness if you wish to speak privately."

The 'good' reverend's face flushed pink and darkened to a rosy hue as he glared at her protector. Then he nodded.

"Move me by the princess," he snapped at their escort. The man rushed to rearrange the place settings around them.

Never before had Ororo been able to make anyone snap to and respond the way this was playing out. When Stryker sat on her left, all the hairs on her arm stood straight out as if there had been a blast of static electricity beside her. She glanced back to see if Hunter had noticed but his attention was focused on Stryker. He shifted on his feet as though he were suddenly unsteady.

"Darling, you are going to eat?" She patted the empty spot by her right hand. He slipped into the chair with a look of gratitude.

"Your Highness," Stryker began as attendants began serving the appetizers, "let me explain a little about our cause."

* * *

Logan snorted and shook his head as he wiped down his bar. This Stryker character was a real piece o' work. How the hell Dean could keep from layin' into the jackass was beyond him. Spoutin' on about evil spirits causin' deformities and demonic abilities.

"Logan!" a voice hissed at him.

He forced himself to focus on the person in a red server jacket standing in front of him. Jean. God she was beautiful. She gave him a hard look. "Two beers?"

"Sorry," he muttered, glancing around to see if anyone was watching them. "Guess I was, uh, distracted."

Jean frowned and shrugged. "It is hard to ignore." She shook her head as Stryker went on about abominations. "He must like the sound of his own voice," she said in a whisper. "I'm ready for this to be over."

Logan checked the clock on the far wall. "Just four more hours."

She groaned and leaned against the bar. "If they leave, I'm sneaking off. These people are driving me crazy."

Logan placed two beers on her serving tray. "I ain't not above walkin' out, but it might give us away."

Jean rolled her eyes before taking the tray. Yeah, it was going to be a loooong evening.

* * *

After making certain Stryker had no doubts about them and believed, at least for the moment, that he needed the princess' backing, Dean had been feeling kind of drained. He ate everything placed in front of him without tasting any of it.

This Stryker guy was seriously nuts. Ghosts, ghouls, poltergeists, those he understood. They operated under certain rules, you could figure 'em out. But this dude? He was just frigging scary. He honestly believed everything flowing out of his mouth like a fountain of pure crap.

After what felt like years Storm reached over to touch his hand. "Darling? Isn't it time to leave?"

Those were some of the sweetest words he had ever heard. Dean sprang to his feet to pull out her chair so she could stand. He offered his arm while Stryker kept on about how her generous donation would protect the innocent god-fearing people of the world. Oh how he would love to knock the guy into next week.

"We will be able to depend on your donation?" Stryker pressed, following them through the main room. Their presence demanded attention from the 'common' supporters. Actually, that gave Dean an idea for a clean exit.

With a slow shoulder roll, he encouraged the supporters watching Stryker eagerly to approach. It only took a few to start. Next thing they knew, Stryker was being mobbed by his financial backers. Awesome. The sea of people were only interested in the psycho reverend, they eagerly parted to allow Dean and Storm to leave. He practically shoved her out the door.

Summers saw them coming and raced off for the car. If it had another seat, Dean would let him drive them home. He stifled a yawn while they waited on the car in silence. Only after they were both seated inside the car, the Ferrari was pointed towards the Institute and they had both removed their transmitters from their ears did Storm break the silence.

"I would never have believed he was that bad," she said in a heavy voice.

Exhaustion rolled slowly over his body. "He's nuts," Dean agreed in a shaky voice.

"Hunter? Are you all right?" Her hand grasped his arm. "Perhaps you should pull over."

Dean ran a hand over his face before shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good. It's not much farther."

"You look pale," Storm insisted. "Are you ill?"

"Just a little tired," he replied, trying not to snap at her. "What was that stuff he was going on about right before we left? About public schools?"

"He wants to make it mandatory to test children in public school for the mutant gene," she replied in a stiff voice, "including state colleges. Something about it being a rider in the new public education funding bill."

"Sick bastard," Dean mumbled. "There is something seriously wrong with that dude."

"I agree."

He realized her hand had not left his arm. At the next light he glanced over at her, now realizing that the high anxiety and fearful emotions he had been feeling since they left were not his.

"Hey, lady," Dean said in a gentle voice. "Are you all right?"

Storm studied him for a moment before shaking her head. "How can we fight this, Hunter? How? His weapon of choice is public opinion. If he turns all the regular people against us..."

A car horn honked from behind them. The light was green. Dean eased off the clutch to roll through the intersection. Storm's question bounced around in his mind but there was no obvious solution.

"Beats me," Dean finally admitted before pulling into the drive. "But I'm glad I'll be here when it comes to a head. I hate to think of anybody who doesn't have a safe place to be."

"No one will." Storm's tone was ominous. "It is too easy to hate. Once mutants have been eliminated, their focus will turn to purifying religion or race, or some other means of classifying humanity. It won't stop."

He parked the car in its assigned spot and shut the engine off. They sat there as the garage fell into perfect silence.

"What do you think Xavier will want to do?" Dean finally asked, unsure if he could turn down even the craziest plan after that observation.

"I don't know." Storm sighed heavily. "But I hope he comes up with a good plan."

"And I was worried about New Year's," Dean mumbled, pushing the car door open.

"Why?" Storm asked, the expensive car looking like a mere accessory compared with her. "What is happening on New Year's?"

"Nothing, I hope," Dean replied honestly. At least, nothing bad.

"I thought perhaps you might have another date with a certain librarian," Storm said with a secretive smile.

Dean stared at her for a moment over the top of the car. "Now how the hell could you know we're going out?"

"Really, Hunter. All of the students have been talking about you two since your first date." Her regal head cocked to one side. "Honestly, I was rather hurt by the knowledge."

"That I didn't tell you about it?" he asked slowly, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean.

"That you didn't ask me first," she said in a haughty tone, but her emotions betrayed her. She was only teasing.

Dean shrugged and spread his arms in surrender. "Hey, you're way out of my league, lady." He grinned as she gave him a coy look. "Let's face it, I'm just not fancy enough for you."

"You are in that suit." Storm gave him a long look up and down, then she winked. He could feel her amusement.

Dean yanked at the collar before pulling the tie loose. "This is the most damned uncomfortable thing I've ever worn."

"Perhaps we should check in with the Professor," Storm suggested. "I am certain he is waiting for us."

"Do you think he'd mind waiting while I changed?" Dean asked, following her out of the garage.

"Yes," Storm replied in the same haughty voice from earlier.

"You're just trying to keep me in the suit," Dean accused with a laugh.

"Do you blame me?" she demanded with a glance over her shoulder.

"Most women are trying to get me out of my clothes," he replied, looking forward to her reaction.

Storm paused in the hall to look him over thoughtfully. "That would be my second choice."

He clasped a hand to his chest. "Oh! Walking wounded here!"

"Not yet," she said airily, "but you could be."

And his regular death threat. He had been wondering what happened to that.


	51. Chapter 51: Refuge

Chapter 51: **Refuge**

Dean hung up the expensive suit in his closet. Xavier warned him that he might be needing it again, they were not finished with Stryker. Not by a long shot.

He couldn't shake the oppressive feelings of hate and fear leftover from sitting with that idiot Stryker for hours. There was no way he could go to sleep like this. Dean pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt. He told himself that he would go to the gym and pound the punching bag or the rec room to play some stupid video game, but Dean found himself standing outside of Libby's door.

They had not been dating for two full weeks yet and this was where he wanted to be right now. Swallowing hard, thinking this was a stupid idea, Dean knocked softly on the door. Within moments it opened and Libby stood there, dressed for bed in her pajama pants and one of those clingy night shirts.

"Dean?" She gave him a concerned look. "Come in."

Libby barely had the door closed when she asked, "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I wish," he said with a sigh. "At least then I'd know what to do." Dean stretched his arms above his head, only now realizing how much his back and shoulders ached. "God my back hurts."

Genuine concern flooded over him, a torrent of good caring emotions. He breathed in deeply, imagining the good emotions entering his body with the air, then he exhaled slowly, visualizing all that hate and anger leaving. Hank's techniques always sounded so dorky but damned if they didn't work.

"My goodness," Libby said as she pressed on his shoulders, forcing him to lower his arms, "you are tense. Go sit on the couch. I'll be right back."

Honestly not wanting to be anywhere else, Dean walked the short distance to her couch. The television was on, the volume turned down low. Libby had been watching some late night talk show.

"I thought you read all the time!" he called out with a grin as he sat. Dean picked up the remote to turn the volume up a little.

He heard her in her kitchenette. "Not all the time," she said with a giggle. "Besides, they're interviewing one of my favorite actors tonight."

Dean leaned his head all the way back until he could see her upside down. "Not the one you think is sooo good looking?"

She grinned as she walked over to him, two beers in one hand and a plastic purple bottle in the other. "Yes, that one. Here, make yourself useful." Libby held out the beers.

Dean sat up straight to take the beers from her, wondering about the plastic container. He opened the beers, setting hers in front of her on the coffee table and taking a big swig from his.

"You looked like you could use one," she said, sitting next to him with a bounce. "And this." The purple bottle was in his face.

"Skin lotion?" he asked, wondering what weirdo thing she had read about to come up with this.

Libby grinned and squirted some on her palm. "I thought you might like a nice back massage."

His eyes jumped to her face. Back massage? "We, uh, haven't gone out a month yet," he reminded her, not wanting to break her rules.

A frown creased her face. "Shut up and take off your shirt. This is to help you relax."

"Oh." He shrugged and maintained eye contact. "That helps me relax too."

Indecision swept over her and she glanced toward a door set in the far wall, like she was considering it. Dean realized that if he wanted, he could probably push the issue and spend the night. Did he want that? The weird thing was, he didn't. If that was the only thing he wanted he could find it with some slut at any bar. That wasn't the reason he came here.

Dean yanked off his shirt. "Where do you want me?" he asked honestly, because right now if she said 'bedroom' he wouldn't be able to turn it down regardless of his intentions.

Libby stood and he held his breath. "Why don't you lie on your stomach?" She nodded at the small couch.

He stared at it for a moment before shaking his head. "There is no way I can do that without breaking something, like my back. If you want me flat, how about the floor?"

"I know just the thing!" Libby made a dash for the far door. She stopped right in front of it and scowled at her right hand. Then she shrugged and opened the door with her left. Dean chuckled when he realized her hand must be covered with lotion. She reappeared dragging a bed quilt one-handed.

Dean hopped up to take the quilt from her. He moved the coffee table off to the side to make room before spreading it out on the floor. Next he laid down on his stomach with his arms folded and his head resting on them. Libby kneeled beside him. The first touch of cool lotion to his skin made him jump, which caused Libby to giggle. She was no masseuse but she rubbed and pushed and prodded at every sore spot on his back. Dean had no idea how long they were there, her rubbing his back and shoulders, him spread out across her floor.

He must have dozed off because it was her gentle laughter that woke him. Now she rubbed her palms over the length of his back, up and down, up and down. There was a weight on his lower back. Dean lifted his head to find Libby straddling him, her focus on the television as she laughed again and pulled her hands slowly down his back.

When Libby caught him watching her, she frowned. "What's wrong?" She glanced at her position sitting on him. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

He chuckled deeply, allowing his head to drop on his arms. "You're good. Keep going."

Amusement and more warm emotions burst from her, washing away the lingering remnants of the nasty feelings from Stryker and his cronies. He relaxed under her touch and allowed himself to feel safe and secure here. His eyelids were way too heavy to keep open, so Dean allowed them to close.

When he woke up again it was dark. There was a heavy blanket keeping him warm and the room was still and quiet. Dean stretched, feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. Not wanting the other instructors talking about them too, he folded up the blanket covering him and placed it on the sofa. Next he folded the quilt which quickly joined the blanket. After placing the coffee table back where it belonged, Dean pulled his shirt back on and slipped out Libby's door to return to his room.

His little room felt empty and cold by comparison. One of these days, Dean promised himself, he was going to spend the night there and not on the floor. But he wouldn't push for it. No. He had no where better to be, he could wait.

* * *

Bill Stryker reviewed the donations list again. Even without the rich princess' promise of support, the dinner had doubled the donations. He smiled as he set it aside and reached for a glass of ice water. While it was beneficial to lubricate his supporters with alcohol in order to generate generous donations, Bill himself did not care for it. Alcohol was a weakness. It was a means evil used. He had once been under the influence of such demonic control, never again.

"How was the party?" a man's voice asked from the shadowed corner.

"Good," he replied without looking directly at the speaker. It was not proper for human eyes to gaze upon the magnificence of heaven. "We doubled our donations and may have discovered a new wealthy supporter for our cause."

"Wonderful," the man's voice said. "What do you need from me?"

Bill considered asking for the princess to have a prophetic dream of what the world would become if they failed to secure her support. "Nothing, for now," he replied, setting down his ice water and keeping his gaze averted from the corner. "But I'm guessing you're here because you have new information?"

"There is a school," the voice told him. "It is training a mutant army."

It required all of Bill's willpower not to turn his head, not to look into those heavenly eyes and see The Truth. He had not yet earned that privilege. "Where?" His voice quivered with barely contained rage.

"I've tried to go there myself, but they have managed to protect it from me," the voice of God's Will said.

"How is that possible?" Stryker asked in a mixture of horror and amazement.

"The school recently underwent a construction project to install a symbol to prevent me from entering the campus," his heavenly benefactor said. "I do not know how they learned of my plans."

"An outrage," Bill muttered, his hands beginning to shake. "I will send my Purifiers."

"Not yet," he was told. "We do not want the mutants to know we have found them."

"You have found them," Bill corrected. "You still haven't told me where they are."

A deep chuckle resonated from the corner. "The Xavier Institute."

"Xavier as in Charles Xavier," Bill replied with a sigh. "That would explain why he never comes to my dinners."

Again his most distinguished guest chuckled. "It would."

"That does give me an idea," Bill said slowly as a plan began to take form in his mind.

"I thought it might."

"Charles Xavier is the founder and leader of the school. Therefore he would be the leader of the mutant army," he reasoned aloud. "If we can 'convince' him that mutants are evil, he would turn them all over to us."

There was no answer. Bill chanced a glance at the corner of his office. It was empty; he was again alone. He raised his ice water to his lips, allowing the new course of action to ferment and grow in his mind while cool water washed away his thirst. It was not something he could act on immediately, it would require time and planning. And money. Those were things he now had in abundance.

* * *

Charles Xavier was unable to sleep. He watched anxiously as Cerebro compiled the data from the recent mission. Names of wealthy families scrolled across the monitor as they were identified. It was certainly a party of the wealthy and influential. Clearly Ororo's and Hunter's fears of persecution were justified. With this caliber of a following there would be little Stryker could not do.

He must be stopped. But how? Was there a way to turn his followers against him? Most of these people had to be, under normal conditions, rational and reasonable human beings. Why were they listening to this lunatic?

They were scared. There was no other reason for it. No other explanation. All of the evils and problems with the world today were being blamed on the Mutant Menace, as Stryker called them. He wanted 'purification' and a 'return to decency'. The part which amazed Charles the most was the fact this man was not only out walking the streets instead of being locked in a mental institution, but he was a popular televangelist. Was the general population so blind? Or were they all truly so scared?

Hunter's suggestion of the Parents' Weekend, a mere stone thrown in a vast ocean of hatred and bigotry, felt more and more appropriate as the names scrolled across the computer terminal. If only they could invite these people, these mislead supporters, to see how amazing being a mutant could be, to experience the wonder and joy of their students, to potentially gain an understanding of the benefits mutants could contribute to all of humanity.

Ah, if wishes were dollars he would be a billionaire. Again.

Aside from the list of names Cerebro was compiling, there was one other positive outcome of their efforts tonight. Scott owed him twenty dollars.

* * *

"What I don't understand," Scott complained, "was how they did it. I mean, no one in their right minds would ever think Hunter and Ororo belonged together. He's no where close to being in her class."

Jean shrugged and rubbed her hands over his shoulders as she leaned against his back. "I know. I lost money on the betting too."

Scott looked over his shoulder at her. Her beautiful face held an expression of defeat as she attempted to give his shoulders a massage, but she clearly was not in the mood for it.

"Really," he persisted. "How did they do it?"

Jean sighed, her hands dropping away from his shoulders. "I think it had a lot to do with the way he kept looking at her."

"How was that?" Scott asked. "I didn't see anything unusual."

"It wasn't unusual," she replied slowly. "It was more like, she was the only woman in the room who mattered."

Scott waved away the suggestion. "Oh, I see him act like that all the time. If Logan or his father has something to say, he behaves as if there were no one else in the room."

"Because Logan and his father are important to him," Jean said. "That's how he was acting with Ororo."

Puzzled, Scott scratched behind one ear. "But I've seem him do it with The Librarian too. Maybe that's just the way he acts?"

Jean giggled and shook her head. "I hear they're dating."

"Who? Hunter and Ororo?" Scott demanded, dumbfounded. But it would explain how they pulled it off tonight.

"No! Hunter and The Librarian." She winked at him. "I'm taking bets on that one, too. This time I'm in favor. If he treats Elizabeth half as well as he treated Ororo tonight, she would be a fool not to hang on to him."

"And Elizabeth is...?"

"The Librarian," Jean said. "That's her real name."

"Oh. I thought it was Libby," he replied with another scratch.

She laughed at him again. "The way I hear it, Hunter gave her the nickname which is the only reason she's tolerating it."

"In that case, don't let me bet against them," Scott replied with a chuckle.

Jean leaned harder against him and wrapped her arms over his shoulders. "You don't have to bet money," she breathed in his ear.

"Can I lose tonight?" he asked hopefully.

She laughed again but this was the good laugh, the one that sent tingles through his skin. "You'd better," Jean whispered in his ear.

He grinned as he turned to face her. Tonight didn't have to be a total bust.

* * *

Logan imagined that idiot Stryker's face on the punching bag as he laid into it. He was so intent on whaling away at it, it took him a while to realize he was not alone in the gym. Glancing around between punches, he saw Hank watching him from the far wall.

"Can't sleep?" he demanded with another monumental blow to the bag.

"No." Hank stepped forward slowly, keeping well out of range. "I have come from Professor Xavier's office. I understand this evening was most...disturbing."

Logan grunted, punching the bag twice in quick succession. He paused, catching the swinging bag with one arm and looking at Hank. "Disturbin' ain't the word."

"Yes," Hank replied with a heavy sigh. "I was expecting Hunter to be here as well. He must have a great deal of emotional distress to work through."

Logan frowned and shrugged. "Why? We all heard the same crap."

"But Hunter could feel it," Hank pointed out. "He experienced the emotions of that self-important idiot."

Logan had to chuckle. "Careful, Doc. You're startin' to sound like Singer."

"I tried going by Hunter's room but he did not answer the door," Hank said in a worried tone. "He did eat tonight?"

"Yeah. I think." Logan frowned and scratched at his cheek. "Want me to go check on 'im?"

"Please."

Logan grunted and shook his head. "I'm always lookin' after other people's kids."

"I know the feeling," Hank said as he walked with Logan to the instructors' wing of the mansion.

Logan sniffed at Dean's door; smelled like the kid was in there. He knocked. No answer. He listened and could hear breathin'. At least Dean was alive. Logan turned the knob and it spun easily in his hand. Since when did Dean leave doors unlocked? A little spooked, he turned on the light.

Dean was sprawled all over the single person bed, sleepin' on top of the covers with his clothes still on and ever'thin'. Logan grunted again, approaching the bed.

"Hey, kid!" he snapped, kicking the bed with his foot.

Dean jumped up to a sit, his bloodshot eyes wide open and a knife flashed in one hand. "Damn it, Logan! What the hell are you doing?" He lowered the knife but didn't release it, like it bein' in his hand was second nature.

Logan turned towards the door. "He looks good to me, but I ain't a doctor."

"You didn't answer the door, Hunter," Hank explained, walking a little closer. "We were concerned. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Get out," he snapped with a wave of his hand. Dean turned his back on them to stick that knife under his pillow. "And turn out the light," his voice was muffled by his pillow as he fell face-first into it.

"Very well," Hank replied slowly, "but I expect you in my office first thing tomorrow for an exam."

Dean mumbled sumthin' else but Logan was pretty sure he didn't want to know. Judgin' by Hank's expression, he didn't want to know neither.


	52. Chapter 52: One Month Anniversary

Chapter 52 :** One Month Anniversary**

"So is this like a record for you or something?" Adam asked with a laugh.

"Yeah," Dean admitted, cradling the phone between his cheek and ear. "I've never dated one chick for a whole month before." He set out his photocopies for Myths and Legends in ten stacks across the floor of his room.

"Well congratulations," Adam enthused. Man, it was good to hear someone else being happy for him. "Big plans for tonight?"

Hell yes he had big plans, but not the kind to talk about with a young kid. "Oh, I figured flowers, a nice dinner. Hey, do you think I should buy her a present?" Dean picked up one page from each stack as he talked. When he reached the end of the line, he stapled them together into a booklet.

"Absolutely," Adam replied. "So when do I get to meet her? She's all you've been talking about lately."

Embarrassed, Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. "She is? Oh, uh, sorry about that."

Adam laughed at him again. "Don't worry about it. I know I talk about Christine a lot. Now quit avoiding the subject."

Dean shook his head. The kid had known him what? Four months? And already had figured out his avoidance tricks. "I'll talk to her. You know you don't have enough room for both of us to stay at the house," he warned. He went back to making booklets for his students.

"Wrong," Adam sang happily. "Mom cleaned out the back room. We have an official guest room now, and you have first dibs."

"She didn't do that for me?" Dean asked warily.

"Are you kidding? Of course she did. Especially since you're going to stay with us while you present that self-defense seminar next month. It's booked solid already, by the way. I think I overheard her talking to her supervisor about requesting you to extend it a couple more days." Adam sounded really pleased by it. "Dean? I know you might not have time for a full football game when you come, especially if Libby is with you, but you did promise to show me and my two best friends some new moves next visit, remember?"

"Yeah, sure. No sweat," Dean promised. He had a good rhythm going now with the booklets.

"Any idea what you're going to buy for Libby?" Adam asked. "New book?"

Dean chuckled at the suggestion. "Dude, I doubt I could find one she hasn't read. Besides, I like picking up music and movies for her. I can always find something new to Libby."

"Oh, yeah. I get it," Adam said slowly. "And then you have more in common because you're sharing your interests, right?"

Dean chuckled. "Dude, do you know who you sound like?" he asked, referring to Hank.

"Yeah, you. Duh," Adam snapped. "So are you going to bring her or not? It'd be nice to have a face to put with the name."

Dean set several more booklets down as he thought it over. "I'll invite her to come with me for Christmas if you're sure it's cool with your mom."

"I'm sure," Adam promised. "Now you'd better go buy Libby something nice so she'll come over."

Dean laughed lightly. "Dude, I have at least an hour's more work to do before I can go shopping."

"It's your anniversary," Adam argued. "Take the rest of the day off. Besides, isn't it about time for your school to go on break?"

"Listen, no one makes a textbook for my kind of class, so I have to piece it together from other books. That takes some time and there's no one to do it for me. Well, Dad might if I made him feel guilty, but he's not here this week," Dean explained. "That leaves just me and I don't want to have to work on it over the break."

Adam groaned. "Oh, man, you are too grown up sometimes."

Dean had to laugh at that. It was the first time he had been accused of being grown up! "Kid, if I gave you Sam's number, could you tell him that?"

"Who's Sam?" Adam asked.

Dean froze in his task, staring down at the piles of papers. "Uh, I thought Dad told you about Sam?"

"No," Adam said slowly, "because then I'd know. Who's Sam?"

"My other kid brother," Dean replied with a wince.

"What!" Adam shouted. Dean had to drop the booklet he was putting together so he could yank the phone from his ear. That kid had a set of lungs on him. "I have another brother and no one told me?"

"Dude, I'm sorry. I really thought you knew," Dean said. Oh, crap. Here it came. Now Adam would stop liking him.

"Wh-where is he?" Adam demanded with breathless excitement.

Dean sighed heavily. He sat in the floor amid his various piles, one elbow on his knee so he could rest his cheek in his palm. "Stanford on a full scholarship."

"Wow," Adam breathed. "So how often does he visit? Maybe I can be there the next time and you can introduce us?"

Dean shifted to run his hand over his face. Holy crap. "Uh...so far? Never."

"You're never going to introduce me?" Adam asked in a small voice. "Why not? What'd I do?"

"It's not you," Dean put as much strength in his voice as he could. "It's Sam. Dad and I haven't seen him since he left for school. He just started calling me again over Thanksgiving."

"Wait. As in, he hasn't visited at all?" Adam sounded real confused. Dean couldn't blame the kid, he didn't understand it either.

"Nope. Nada, dude." Dean shrugged although no one else could see it. "We're supposed to see him New Year's. Tell you what, I promise I'll tell him about you."

"No," Adam replied slowly. "I, uh, I'm not sure I want you to."

Now it was Dean's turn to be confused. "Why not?"

"How long ago did Sam leave?" Adam asked.

"Uh, well, it's been about a year and a half," Dean told him.

"A year and a half?" Adam repeated, his voice squeaking at the end. "A year and a half and he never called until recently? Definitely don't tell him about me. No offense, Dean, but I don't know if I want to get to know someone who would do that to his family."

"It wasn't just Sam," Dean replied. "Dad had a lot to do with it, too."

"In that case, I think I need to make a phone call. Call me tomorrow and let me know how the big anniversary date went?" Adam asked.

"Sure thing, kid," Dean promised. "Don't go too hard on Dad, now. I think Hank's been beating him up about the fight with Sam, too."

Adam sighed angrily through the phone. "And there was a fight? I really need to call Dad now. Dean, talk to you tomorrow. Bye."

"Bye." Dean let out a small sigh as he stuffed his cell back in his pocket. No, it wasn't his fault Dad hadn't told Adam about Sam. The fight itself had not been his fault. It also was not his fault that Sam never contacted him for over a year.

* * *

They tried to time their dates with dinnertime so they could leave without every student on campus spotting them. Dean knew there were rumors about the two of them, but so far the rumors weren't bothering Libby. He approached her door nervously, a bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in one hand and a new soft jazz CD in the other. Dean tried to breathe deeply to calm down. He really wanted tonight to go well. If the one month anniversary went well, there was hope for a two month anniversary.

After casting anxious glances down the empty corridor, Dean knocked. He waited a moment but there was no answer. He knocked louder. This time he heard movement behind the door. For a moment Dean feared Libby had forgotten their date.

The door opened just enough for Libby to peek out, only one eye and less than half her face visible. Several strands of hair hung over her pale face and the one eye was red-rimmed. Waves of nausea flowed from her and a sense of being so sick she couldn't think of anything else.

"Oh, Dean," she said in a breathless voice, "I don't think I can..."

Her head bobbled uncertainly as she passed out. Dean dropped his gifts and raced forward, catching her falling body through the partially open door. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to bed.

"Not the way I pictured doing this today," he said to her unresponsive body. He laid her out on the bed, covering her with a warm blanket. There was a large plastic bowl and a glass of water on the nightstand. He stared at it for a moment. "She has a nightstand?"

Dean turned around to check it out. He had noticed that Libby's bedroom was separate from the rest of her 'room' but not that it was really more of an apartment than just a room. She had told him once her living quarters were part of the incentive package offered by the Institute when she was hired. The bedroom walls were covered in pink wallpaper with tiny white flowers.

"No wonder she's been trying to keep me out of here," Dean mumbled to himself as he pulled out his cell phone and made a face at the ugly wallpaper. He pressed the speed dial button.

"Hunter?" Hank's voice was barely audible over the background noise of the school cafeteria. "Is something wrong? I thought you were going out tonight?"

"It looks like Libby's sick," Dean explained. "She just passed out answering the door."

"I will be right up," Hank promised. "If she wakes, keep her off her feet."

"Thanks, Hank."

* * *

An hour later Hank returned with medication and a bag full of canned soups and saltine crackers. "Plenty of rest and fluids," he told Dean. "It's the flu, but these should help ease the symptoms. Keep her in bed if you can, I'd prefer she not pass out again."

"Me too," Dean agreed, accepting the goods.

"Call again if you need anything or if she becomes any worse. Most people treat the flu like it's an annoyance but it is the cause of hundreds of deaths each year," Hank warned him.

"Thanks, Hank." Dean rolled his eyes. "Way to put my mind at ease."

One furry hand grasped his shoulder briefly as Hank shook his head at Dean. "You know how to find me. Now, my dinner was interrupted, so I need to go find something to eat. I wonder if there is any cheesecake left in the teacher's kitchen?"

Dean sighed. Payment was due. "In the freezer, bottom drawer, under the frozen broccoli."

Hank flashed a smile. "Your ability to camouflage always astounds me, Hunter. Do you wish for me to check in later, before bed?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Why don't you come by in the morning?"

"In the morning, then." When Hank walked slow he always looked awkward. Dean could picture him racing through a forest, powerful limbs bouncing him off tree trunks and using branches and vines to swing him towards his goal faster.

Dean closed the door quietly. He deposited the food items in the kitchenette before checking on Libby again in the bedroom. A low noise, like a moan or a cry, came from her. Concerned, Dean rushed to her side.

When he came close, he felt it: the urge to vomit. Dean grabbed the large plastic bowl on the nightstand with one hand and lifted her up to a sitting position with his other arm. He tried to keep her steady while pulling her hair out of the way. Normally he liked seeing it down, but somehow it just wasn't sexy when combined with puke. When Libby finished, Dean used a damp cloth to wipe her mouth and face.

A shudder, the result of a chill, ripped through her. Dean pressed her back into bed and covered her with the blanket. Her eyes closed and her pale face went slack. She was a bit scary like this. He would prefer some whining and complaining to this nothing. He cleaned out her bowl in the small private bathroom, barely enough room for a toilet and cramped shower. Honestly, as many times as he had been here in the past month, why hadn't he noticed that she had her own bathroom?

Dean dried off the rinsed bowl before returning to Libby. He placed it back on the nightstand. If he could convince her to take her medication, and if it stayed down, it might help with the vomiting and nausea. In the kitchenette Dean put about three fingers worth of clear carbonated soda in a glass. He brought it and two pills to Libby.

"Hey," he said gently, pushing the rogue strands of hair clinging to her hot skin out of the way of her eyes. "I need you to take this. You'll feel better."

She made a strange noise and turned her head away from him. Undaunted, Dean rolled her head back. "Come on, Libby. If you take this, I can leave you alone for a while."

Her head rolled back and forth on the sweaty pillow while she made a nasty face. "Stay."

Despite himself, Dean smiled at that. "Okay, how about this? If you take this, I'll stay."

Feverish eyes opened to regard him. Dean held out his hand with the pills. "Here. Put these in your mouth."

Libby gave the pills the nastiest glare he had ever seen and hatred emanated from her. He had no idea she hated taking medicine this much.

"Come on, baby," Dean encouraged, starting to feel a touch desperate. People could die from the flu.

The hatred drained away as her eyes darted to his face. A gentler emotion, one he often noticed around her, wrapped around them. "Repeat that."

Repeat what? "Put these in your mouth?" Dean tried. "Please, baby. You're kind of scaring me here."

An unexpected smile lit her face as she took the pills from his hand. Now that he had a free hand, Dean used it to steady her as she sipped from the glass he held for her. When the pills were down, Dean lowered her back to the bed.

"Now I like that," she muttered as her eyes slipped closed again. "Much better than Libby." Her lips pressed outward in a sweet smile, which looked much more natural than the slackness he had been looking at for the past couple of hours.

What did he say that she liked better than Libby? What'd he say? Uh, baby? Whoops. That had been a slip of the tongue, but she liked it, huh? Okay, he could live with that. Usually Dean only used endearments like 'baby' or 'darlin' when he couldn't remember the chick's name. Now he was going to use it because Libby liked it. He really hoped she never thought it was because he couldn't remember _her_ name.

Libby appeared to be sleeping peacefully, at least for the moment. This was shaping up to be one boring anniversary weekend. He would watch television but the set was in the main room so that was out. He doubted he would be able to hear Libby over the sound anyway. Dean looked at the bookshelves lining one wall of her bedroom which were filled with books, of course. One volume appeared well worn, the pages dog-eared and the cover faded and ripping. Dean pulled it out. Frigging Shakespeare.

With a deep, deep sigh, because he felt like he was back in frigging high school, Dean eased on to the other side of Libby's bed. He propped the book up on his chest and tilted the shade on the lamp to shine on the book. What was the name of that movie she made him watch last week? It had some kick-ass fight scenes in it. Henry the something. He checked the table of contents. Crap. There were a whole shitload Henry plays in here. Now what? Romeo and Juliet? Nah, that sucked ass then and it would suck ass now. Everybody who mattered died in it. Comedy of Errors? What the hell was that? The dude wrote comedy??

Dean flipped to the first page of the play. Not a damn word made any sense. Forget it. Back to the table of contents. One more chance here, dude. Hamlet. Now that sounded familiar. He turned to the beginning of Hamlet. Better. Two dudes talking, probably guards. At least they were making a little more sense than that Error thing. It had the right damn name, picking it had been a mistake.

He was almost ready to pitch this one too, giving up on all of it as a lost cause, when the ghost entered. Dean sat up a little straighter in bed. A ghost? Shakespeare wrote about ghosts? Why hadn't anyone mentioned this?

Dean started it over, this time reading aloud in a soft voice. It actually made more sense when he could hear the words. Wait a minute. What in the hell was that word? He looked up, his eyes scanning her shelves again. She should own a dictionary, right? Well, crap, maybe not. Libby never forgot anything she read, so she would just need to read a dictionary and then she'd never need it again. Frigging great. Then his gaze landed on a huge volume resting on the desk in the corner of the room. Dean checked it out. An unabridged dictionary. Damn that thing was huge!

He carried it over to the bed. Dean checked on Libby, who was sleeping peacefully, before settling in again. He sat close enough to Libby to be able to reach the bowl or her drink, whatever she needed, and feel her forehead to assure himself she wasn't growing hotter. The big-ass dictionary went between his knees, allowing him to sit up and not disturb her to look up a word. Armed for his boring evening, Dean set to work plowing through a freaking historical play. God, Sam would laugh his ass off if he knew.

* * *

Libby crept closer to consciousness, fearing the return of the deadly nausea. Nothing. Relieved, she allowed herself to wake a little more, until she became aware of a warm body pressed against hers. Then she realized that she was pressed up against the warm body. Her arm was slung over a muscular chest and her head cradled against a supportive shoulder.

Oh, God. She must be dead. This was her personal version of heaven.

Deep breathing, like someone sleeping, came from above her head. Cautiously Libby opened her eyes. She was sleeping on a broad male chest wearing her favorite shirt of Dean's. She lifted her head enough to peer towards the head of the bed and the source of the breathing. Dean's eyes were closed and his head slumped to one side. He would probably have a crick in his neck from sleeping like that. Her bedside lamp was on and a book rested against his chest on the other side. He fell asleep reading. She smiled at it, knowing he was more of a soft touch than he would ever admit.

Libby took the book, her collection of Shakespeare plays, and shoved it on the nightstand. When she lifted up to turn off the lamp, she noticed her dictionary between Dean's knees. Now what the hell was that doing there? She tried to lift it, but it was heavy and she felt weak and drained.

"Lib?" Dean's body gave shake and the next thing she knew he was sitting up and holding her by the shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," she replied. "I was just trying to move this off the bed so you could sleep."

He pulled her back down gently. "I got it, baby. Relax."

Baby. A tingle raced over her skin when he said that. God, he could be so sweet when he wanted. She watched him deposit the heavy book on the floor before turning an intense gaze on her. "Feeling better?"

She nodded, wondering what he was thinking right now. One hand pressed against her forehead before caressing her cheek. "You're still pretty warm," he said with a slight frown. "Nausea?"

Libby shook her head. She had a vague recollection of the world turning gray and nothing but a plastic bowl in front of her face.

Dean blew out a breath looking highly relieved. "All right, but I think you still need to take the next dose. Wait here while I refill your glass."

Libby waited patiently, her eyes straying to the clock. Four twenty one beamed out at her in bright red numbers. She glanced around. It didn't feel like four in the afternoon. Then she noticed there was no light coming through her bedroom window. Oh, surely not! Maybe the power went out and reset the clock.

Dean returned with a glass full of clear and bubbly liquid. He handed it to her before reaching for a couple of pill bubble-packages on the nightstand. He popped out three pills and held them out to her. She made a face as she accepted them, but considering the expression he was wearing refusing to take them never crossed her mind.

Libby swallowed them down with a large gulp of the sweet carbonated drink. "When did the power go out?" she asked with a nod at her alarm clock.

Dean's stern face softened. "It didn't. That's the real time."

She froze, only her head turning as she looked between him and the clock. "You...you stayed all night?"

He glanced down and shrugged, as if he had done something wrong instead of incredibly sweet. "I should be able to sneak back to my room without anyone noticing," he offered.

Oh, dear. It was times like this that were so damned confusing. Did he want to sneak back, or was he offering because he thought she wanted it?

"Only if you want," Libby replied before sipping at her drink. The cool bubbly liquid felt wonderful on her raw throat. "But I was pretty comfortable."

His head lifted and that cute smile, the one which belonged on a mischievous little boy instead of a grown man, appeared. "I wouldn't mind staying."

"That's settled." Libby nodded and set her glass down. Her mouth tasted terrible and the drink had not managed to wash it away. "But I'm going to brush my teeth. If my breath smells half as bad as my tongue tastes, I'm shocked you were able to stand to be in the same room with me."

Dean chuckled but he didn't say anything, one way or the other. It must smell pretty bad, Libby decided. She walked to her bathroom with Dean on her heels. Libby paused at the door. "You don't have to follow me."

He frowned, his face once again too stern to argue with. "You passed out on me once already tonight. We're not going for twice."

Oh. Libby swallowed hard as she turned to face her sink. She was well aware of her boyfriend's watchful gaze as she brushed her teeth. She rinsed out her mouth and then splashed cool water over her face. That felt good. When she splashed her face again, she felt a touch dizzy.

A strong hand grasped her arm above the elbow. "That's enough," Dean said in a soft voice. "Back to bed."

Libby used her free arm to grab her handtowel and dry her face. "I'm coming," she protested, but Dean would not let go, not even after she stepped out of the bathroom. He followed closely holding her by both arms. She looked at him over her shoulder. "You said I passed out?"

He nodded silently. She allowed herself to be manhandled into bed. Actually, it was rather nice having a gorgeous man put her to bed.

"Did I scare you?" she asked as he pulled the sheets and blanket over her.

He sat next to her on the bed and stared at her for a long moment. His hand moved up slowly to press gently against her cheek. "Scared the crap out of me." His tone was so serious, so sincere, she wasn't sure if she felt guilty for scaring him that way or overjoyed because he had to care a lot about her in order to scare him that much.

"Sorry," she breathed.

A sweet smile returned to his face and he leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Not your fault," he assured her.

"Does that mean I get to snuggle again?" Libby asked as pathetically as she could muster, complete with wide eyes and a pout.

"Hang on." Dean stood to walk around to the other side of her bed. He was in his stocking feet, so he simply slid on to the bed on top of the covers. Then he held out the arm closest to her, inviting her to snuggle.

Libby scooted over until she could rest her head on his shoulder and hang on to him with an arm across his chest. Already her eyelids felt heavy and her body relaxed against his. His arm wrapped around her, his hand pressed against the small of her back.

"Better?" His voice had to filter past the warm darkness descending on her.

"Mmmm," she mumbled.

"You know," Dean continued, his deep voice rumbling against her cheek, "one of these days we're going to do this naked."

"We'd better," Libby replied, mostly asleep.


	53. Chapter 53: Preparing for the Holidays

Chapter 53:** Preparing for the Holidays**

It was his last class before winter break officially began. Dean cast his gaze over the assembled students, all of the kids going home over break, lingering on Bobby Drake. The boy was overly nervous and hanging on his every word. Man he wished he had a good excuse for keeping Bobby here. Letting the kid leave school grounds didn't feel right.

"Okay, let's start with the stuff you're going to be taking with you," Dean began. He held up a gray lined wind-breaker with the protection symbol in white embroidered on the back. A fancy script 'X' was on the front. "This is one of the new school jackets. It was given to all of the students on the last day before winter break, today. Everyone will be given one but the rest of the shipment hasn't arrived yet, so this isn't a complete lie. It's new, you like it, and the school hasn't ever done this before, that's the reason you like wearing it all the time even indoors."

Dean pointed a finger at the kids as he set the jacket aside. "Especially in the homes of other people, where you haven't been able to use your salt or put out the complimentary door mat or hang up your posters."

There were some murmurs at that.

"The posters are next," Dean said, cutting off the murmuring. He removed two small rolled up posters. He unfurled the glossy pages revealing Ororo in her princess outfit with a rock band behind her. It was hard to tell, but Summers wearing his funky shades sat behind the drums with raised drumsticks and Jean Gray posed with a guitar. Part of the band's name, The Storm, had a protection symbol in place of the 'O'. It received some applause as Dean passed it out. A couple of the boys drooled over Storm's slinky outfit.

The second poster was in the style of a classic black and white monster movie. Logan's right hand, claws extended, stood out in the foreground. In the background were fallen trees with heavy slash-marks through them. Right in the center of the destruction stood Jean Gray in a tattered dress screaming up at the sky. Splashed across the top was 'The Slash' and behind the dripping letters was an ominous looking symbol which in reality was one of the heavy-duty symbols Bobby Singer and Libby dug up specifically for this. At the bottom of the poster it proclaimed 'The Slash' to be a Winchester Production, directed by Hunter Rifle.

"I also have larger versions," he offered, pulling examples from the box behind him. When Dean turned back around the kids were literally mobbing him for the big versions. He made them take both posters although he did not care if they chose the large or small sizes.

"Now, let's see those charms," Dean insisted. He waited while all the kids pulled out the anti-possession charms. All the girls had them on necklaces and some of the boys did, but the rest of the boys had the charms attached in odd places like a bracelet or on a watch. Bobby had his on a cheap chain around his neck, Dean noticed. He passed out the new charms.

"Add this to the one you already have. There are some nice silver chains on my desk if anyone wants to upgrade," Dean announced, handing one new charm to each student. He tapped on Bobby's desk, meeting the boy's eyes. "I'm talking to you."

Bobby nodded silently and gave off so many strong emotions Dean couldn't tell if the boy was just nervous or what. Crap. He shut out the feelings coming from Bobby so he could think clearly.

"Everyone is to take home four or five of these salt canisters as well," he announced, pointing out the large box beside his desk. "I want every one of you to lay a salt line across your bedroom windowsill every night before bed and in your bedroom doorway."

"And if our parents ask why, Professor?" one of the girls, Lucy, asked.

"Tell them it keeps out bugs," Dean replied with a shrug. "Or do it at night after everyone else has gone to bed, when your parents won't notice. I don't really care how you do it or when, but you damn well better do it before you go to sleep. If you have one of those fire dreams, put a solid ring of salt around your bed."

Bobby raised his hand. "I might be able to get away with painting some of the protection symbols on my walls at home."

"Do it," Dean said with a nod. "The more you're protected the better. Now, what's the magic word, people?"

"Christo!" came the teenage chorus.

"Good. Now let's hear your exorcism ritual, which you'd damn well better not need." Dean listened patiently as they recited it so smoothly even Sam would be impressed.

"Last but not least, we have Holy Water for you." Dean pulled out a dozen clear vials. He tossed them one by one to their new owners. "They are small on purpose. Keep it in your pocket. If you ever actually use one call the Institute, even if it was a mistake. Just because you didn't identify a demon with it doesn't mean your instincts were wrong. I'll come check it out."

"You?" Bobby asked, his eyes wide. "In person?"

"Me," Dean repeated in a hard voice. "In person." He looked out over his students. "That's a promise."

There were a number of relieved smiles and the level of tension in the room dropped.

"Any other concerns before you go home? Any questions?" Dean asked, glancing at Bobby again. No one raised a hand. "In that case, have a great winter break and use this stuff!"

A couple of the girls gave him hugs before they left, the rest of the kids stopped by to shake his hand or at least wish him a good break. Bobby hesitated before shaking his hand. The boy also took one of the thick silver rope chains as an upgrade for his charms. Dean knew, in his gut he knew, Bobby should stay at the Institute where they could keep him safe. And what was he doing? He was watching the kid who was no doubt scared out of his mind walk out the door to go home, where the boy would be most vulnerable.

Damn it. No wonder teachers were always complaining how they were underpaid.

* * *

Elizabeth was feeling much better. The fever was gone, she had some color back in her face, and solid food was once again her friend. The worst part had been the first day. Since then she had been tired and slept a lot but that was pretty much it; the medications Dean had shoved down her throat had worked, which she found rather amazing. She had high hopes for this follow-up with Hank.

"I think you are nearly well," Doctor McCoy assured her. "I would prefer if you stayed in and took it easy for the next couple of days, just to be on the safe side."

She sighed heavily. "A couple more days? Can't you just declare me well today?"

"No." He chuckled at her, writing in her chart. "I understand you don't like being sick, but you are not a hundred percent yet and your immune system is down. Unless you want to come down with something even worse, you need to take it easy." He peered at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. "I plan on telling Hunter exactly that."

Elizabeth's shoulders slumped in defeat. Damn. That meant Dean would make her wait a few more days before they could celebrate their anniversary. Oh, her and her stupid month rule!

"He's planning on visiting his younger brother for Christmas," she argued. "I'm sure he'll insist on staying here to look after me if you tell him that." She looked hopefully at her blue furry doctor.

Doctor McCoy frowned and tapped his gold pen against his chin. "I believe Hunter mentioned inviting you to go with him. Has he?"

Elizabeth nodded, a new idea growing. "Would I be allowed to go?" she asked hopefully. An opportunity to leave school grounds without anyone fussing at her or barricading her door!

"I don't see why not," the good doctor said amiably. "As long as no one there is ill."

Yes! "You tell De-uh, Hunter that. He won't believe me," she insisted. McCoy gave her a quizzical look. "I've been trying to go for a walk in the snow for the last two days," Elizabeth admitted sheepishly. "This is my favorite time of year."

Doctor McCoy chuckled. "I will tell him, however I will not condone long walks in the snow."

"Short walks?" she tried.

"I may leave that up to Hunter." Doctor McCoy winked at her. "He would have a better idea of how you're feeling anyway."

Elizabeth sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'll work on him."

"I'm sure you will."

* * *

Bobby Drake stepped off the airplane into the terminal. He moved with the crowd to the area where nonpassengers were allowed and his parents should be waiting for him. Zipping up his new jacket, Bobby looked around the other people waiting for loved ones. Finally he spotted his mother waving over the heads of the crowd. Bobby shouldered his way past people to his mother, who embraced him tightly.

"Where's Dad?" he asked when his mom released him.

"At home," she replied in her 'everything is just fine' voice, which meant nothing was fine. "Did you carry posters on the plane?" Mom asked, tugging at the rolled posters in his hand.

"Uh, yeah. They're new," he said.

"And what is with that jacket?" she asked.

Bobby turned so she could see the back. "My school gave them to us as Christmas presents. Pretty cool, huh? It's the same symbol they installed on the school grounds."

"Oh, yes," she replied, wrinkling her nose, "that artsy thing. At least they're teaching you a little culture there."

He chose not to reply. As long as his mother didn't give him grief for wearing it, his father shouldn't have a problem with the jacket either. She did not speak again until they were in baggage claim.

"Let me see those posters," Mom insisted with an outstretched hand.

Bobby handed both of his large size posters to his mother before walking over to the luggage carousel. He stood beside it until his suitcase came around. After snagging it in one hand, Bobby carried it back to his mother. She had a funny looking smile on her face.

"The Storm?" she asked as they threaded their way through all the holiday travelers. "Is that a new group?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. They're really popular. Pretty much everyone at school listens to them." That wasn't a lie. You had to listen to Mister Summers and Miss Munroe or else your butt would be in detention.

"And the movie poster?" Mom asked. "That looks like an old slasher movie."

"It's a classic," Bobby retorted, remembering Professor Hunter's lesson about behaving the way the people around you expected. "It's not as bad as some of the stuff on tv right now. They don't even show most of the people dying. On cop shows now there are an average of five dead bodies-"

"Bobby, Bobby," Mom said with a laugh, patting his shoulder, "calm down. I didn't say you couldn't hang it up. In your room."

Bobby nodded, genuinely relieved. "Yes, ma'am."

"They're teaching you manners too?" Mom asked, her free hand rubbing over his shoulders. "I'm starting to like that place." She smiled at him.

* * *

Dean tossed Libby's bags into the back seat of the Impala. He felt a little leery about taking her on a road trip when only a few days ago she had been puking her guts out, but Hank had assured him she was almost a hundred percent.

When he turned around, Libby's beaming face greeted him. Dean could not help but smile. She was so excited to be leaving the mansion, not to mention school grounds. He opened the passenger door for her.

"Such a gentleman," she said in a light, happy tone. He closed her door for her before heading over to the driver's side.

"At least this is better than her being a grouch," he muttered to himself as he walked around the car. Dean patted the front fender affectionately before pulling open the driver's door.

"They do know I'm coming?" Libby asked again when he sat down.

"Yes, they know," Dean assured her. It did not seem to matter how many times they had this discussion, she never wanted to believe that she had been invited. "Adam insisted I invite you. He said it would be nice to have a face to put with the name."

She beamed at him and a surge of pleased, warm, happy emotions filled the car as he pulled out of the garage. "You've talked about me? With your brother?"

"Yeah, well, Adam has this girlfriend Christine he's always talking about, and I met her once, seems nice enough. So I may have told him about you." Dean paused and shrugged. "I may have told him a lot about you."

He glanced over guiltily but Libby's grin told him he had nothing to worry about. And those warm emotions? Yeah, those were even warmer and somehow bigger, wrapping around both of them like one of his energy bubbles. He slipped his hand across the seat where her hand slid into his. Already this felt normal to him. Dean would have to be careful because this was far too easy to get used to.

* * *

John stabbed a finger at the results of his demon detecting. "There we go," he announced triumphantly to himself in an empty motel room. "Bastard's been there for weeks."

A demon had the DA of some podunk town possessed and was releasing criminals left and right. Maybe it was trying to have this poor schmuck ousted.

His cell went off. With a grunt, John answered. "Yeah?"

"John? Ain't you comin' back to Jim's?" Bobby demanded.

"Found a hunt," he replied stiffly. After a week of talking about his shortcomings, talking about how he should be talking to his sons, talking, talking, talking and more talking had come damn close to driving John off a cliff. Good thing there hadn't been one around. "Tell Jim I'll see you both New Year's."

"Wait, John!" Bobby shouted into the phone as John cut him off. God, that felt good.

All he needed now was a little back-up. Going after a demon wasn't exactly a job for amateurs and he had just ditched the best two demon hunters he knew. Dean?

Hell, why not? They could stand a little 'bonding' time anyway. He called his eldest son's cell phone.

"Dad? What's up?" Dean asked in an awful cheerful upbeat tone.

John stared unseeing at the far wall, his eyes narrowing and the corners of his mouth pulling down. "Dean, I found a hunt. Ready for some real action for a couple of days? Ought to be a nice break from wiping noses."

Dean chuckled at him, not a good sign. "Oh, right. And blow off Christmas with Adam? This is a joke, right?"

John lifted his hand to massage his temple. Christmas. Cripes, how did he always manage to forget about holidays? "Uh, no. Not really. It's important, son."

The aggravated huff sounded more like Sammy than Dean. "It's always important. I'm going to be there by tomorrow evening, Dad. We're already on the road."

"We? Is Logan with you?" John asked, a stupid idea coming to him disguised as a flash of inspiration.

"No, Libby is. Logan said something about ripping out his own eyes if I made him sit through a normal happy family holiday twice inside of a year." Another huff.

"Then he's back at the school, huh? You've been taking him on hunts, right?" John asked, feeling his son out as well as Logan's level of amateur.

"Yeah, he's been on a few salt and burns and one..." Dean's voice trailed off. "You want to take Logan? Really?"

John cleared his throat, more than a little disgruntled with how obvious he was. Dean being an empath meant he couldn't lie when they were in the same room and get away with it, but on the phone he ought to be able to do or say any damn thing he wanted. Just went to show how well Dean knew him – period. He wasn't sure if he should feel honored or scared out of his gourd. Nobody should be able to read him that well, not even Dean. Crap.

"Only if it's all right with you," John replied. "I wouldn't want him in over his head."

Dean actually laughed at him. "Oh, it's fine with me. Tell you what, let me give him a call and set it up for you. I'll call you back in a few minutes. Want to pick him up or meet him there?"

Dean was still laughing when he hung up. Somehow this did not put John's mind at ease. In less than ten minutes he was told that Logan would be ready for pick up any time. Dean still hadn't told him what Logan's mutant ability was. Knowing Dean's luck, Logan was either another empath or a telepath like that Xavier. Both were pretty damned worthless on a hunt. Not that Dean was worthless on a hunt, but his skills had nothing to do with being a mutant.

Oh, here came another headache. Whiskey or head out to pick up the rookie? The whiskey was unbelievably tempting, but he had a hunt. He had a hunt for a demon and those were never easy. Time to go.

* * *

Bobby had both posters on his wall and his new jacket laid across the foot of his bed. He forced himself to stay awake as he listened to the sounds of his parents checking the doors and turning out all the lights in the house. Once he felt certain they had gone to bed, he slipped out from under the covers.

He poured a thick line of salt across his doorway and on the sill of his bedroom window. The view outside his bedroom window was of an empty street lit by soft blue-white street lights. There were only parked cars visible, not a soul out at this time of night. Feeling more secure, he crawled back inside his warm sheets. This would work, he told himself, Professor Hunter was all worried for nothing. He was perfectly fine here. Just fine.


	54. Chapter 54: Moore at Christmas

Chapter 54: **Moore at Christmas**

Sam carried their bags as he followed Jess up the front walk of her family's home. She threw open the front door calling out, "We're here!"

There was a shout from the bowels of the house and a woman came barreling out. She was a few inches shorter than Jess but shared similar facial features and the exact same hair color. Her hair had been done up in tight curls, which were wild and frayed around her face giving away the fact she had been cooking when they arrived. Her face had a softness to it only a combination of good humor and age were capable of creating. She also had Jess' bright blue eyes, which sparkled when she looked at them.

"My baby!" the woman cried out, grasping Jess in a maternal hug.

Sam set their bags on the floor just inside the door, having no idea where to take them. However he had a pretty good idea they were going to be assigned to separate floors to sleep.

"Mom, this is Sam," Jess introduced him.

Sam smiled and shook her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Missus Moore. I've heard a lot about you."

"None of it's true," the older woman stated defiantly. "Jessica has always had a vivid imagination."

"Mom!" Jess fussed.

"It's all good things," Sam assured her, confused.

"Now I know she made it up," Missus Moore declared. Jess, standing behind her mother, rolled her eyes. "And I saw that, Jessica. Why don't you show your boyfriend around the house while I finish cooking? I think we'll put him in the guest room on this floor. Your father will be home soon, dear."

Jess gave her mother a peck on the cheek as the older woman left the room. She shook her head as she approached Sam. "I did warn you about my parents."

Sam smiled. "I like her. Now I can't wait to meet your dad."

* * *

Dean pulled into the parking lot of an economy hotel. He reached over to feel Elizabeth's forehead, an action she had grown intimately familiar with over the past week.

"How are you feeling? Want to stop for the night?" he asked, looking concerned.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Elizabeth insisted even though she felt completely drained.

"You're exhausted, Baby," Dean said in a sweet voice, his hand dropping to caress her cheek. "Look, I'm kind of low on funds. I sent Adam's mother a check last week to help out with her feeding so many people over the holidays, but I can afford one room. Is that all right?"

She tried to stifle a yawn unsuccessfully. "Anniversary?" Elizabeth managed to ask.

Dean chuckled at her. "You're going to fall asleep the instant you stretch out. Don't worry." He kissed her cheek. "We'll have our anniversary the first night we're back, if you're up to it. I promise."

She nodded into his palm.

"Come on." Dean winked at her. "You probably need to stretch your legs after being in the car since two this afternoon. It's uh," he squinted in the dark at his watch, "ten? I think I need to stretch my legs too."

"Can we go for a walk?" she asked hopefully.

"Maybe a short one." His boyish grin spread across his handsome face, even his eyes seemed to smile at her. "Since you've been a good girl."

Elizabeth grinned back. "I twy," she said in a high-pitched baby voice.

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. "I had that one coming."

* * *

"Sam, is it?" Mister Moore demanded, pumping Sam's hand up and down in his meaty fist. "Good to meet you. With the way little Jessica's been talking about you, I expected you to have angel's wings and be larger than life."

"Dad!" Jess snapped, her face flushing red.

Her father grinned shamelessly. "When's dinner, girl?" he demanded, turning to face her.

Jess huffed loudly before embracing her father.

"Tell me, Sam," he continued after releasing his daughter, "what's your major?"

"Pre-law," Sam replied, enjoying seeing the closeness Jess shared with her parents. He envied it a little.

"Planning on law school?" Mister Moore asked, his eyes lighting up with the prospect.

"Yes, sir," he confirmed. "Definitely."

A wide smile spread across the older man's broad face. He had thin dark hair, more on the sides and far less on top. Mister Moore was wide and tall, built like a brick house as his father would say.

"Let's go sit at the table where we can talk until the girls decide we're allowed to eat," her father suggested with a wink. "Go on," he snapped at Jess, shooing her in the direction of the kitchen.

Sam followed Mister Moore to the dining room. The furniture was unblemished, no nicks or gouges from mistreatment even though it was clearly not new. The plates awaiting use on the table also showed signs of wear but not a chip or crack. It made him a little nervous to see such care taken for objects his family considered disposable.

"Law school," Mister Moore repeated as he sat at the head of the table. He pointed to the empty chair on his left. Sam sat. "We can use more kids like you, good kids, in law school. What kind of law do you want to practice? Any ideas?"

Sam wanted to be a public defender, representing people who couldn't afford a high priced defense lawyer, but Jess had warned him against telling her father the truth about that. "Maybe a corporate attorney," he said instead. From what Sam had read, corporate attorneys had as wide and varied experience as all of law, from outside negotiations to trials. It seemed like a safe alternative.

The older man scratched at his cheek thoughtfully. "Have you considered going into state prosecution? I hear there's going to be a demand for that pretty soon."

Sam studied Jess' father curiously. "Really? Why?"

"I don't suppose you watch any televangelist programs?" he asked hopefully.

"No, sir," Sam admitted. Jess had also warned him to stay as far from the topic of religion as possible. "I'm afraid I spend most of my time studying. I'm at Stanford on scholarship."

"Full scholarship?" Mister Moore asked, expressing shock. "Really?"

"Yes, sir," Sam replied.

The smile returned. "I don't suppose you're helping our little Jessica with her homework?"

Sam chuckled. "Every chance I get."

Mister Moore laughed with him. "Good, good." He turned in the direction of the kitchen and pitched his voice louder. "Someone needs to help my daughter keep her grades up!"

"Hey!" Jess' voice echoed from behind the kitchen door.

Sam found himself liking Mister Moore. Okay, so their homelife was out of the fifties, but they all seemed happy enough. What was the harm in that? He could ignore the little voice in the back of his head demanding his attention. There was nothing sinister here. They were just people, and happy people at that.

* * *

Dean peered out the hotel lobby window at the gentle flurries falling from the sky. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's my favorite time of year," Libby insisted. "I love walking in the snow."

He shook his head and shrugged. "All right, but only for a little while. I know you're wiped out."

When she pouted, it was cute. He had to admit it. Pocketing the card key for their room, Dean nodded at one of the sofas. "Why don't you sit and wait for me while I take our bags to the room? When I come back, we'll go for your walk and then we can head straight for the room."

Libby grinned at him. "Oh, you sweet talker, you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sit already. I won't go unless you're sitting."

She batted her eyes while amusement flowed from her. Oh, if only she knew what all this teasing did to him. It was driving him nuts! But he could wait. It had become his mantra over the past few weeks. He could wait, she was worth it. He could wait, she was worth it. Never mind the fact his head was about to explode, among other things. Besides, when he was around her, he found it relaxing. No one else put him at ease like she could. Things just seemed to feel right when they were together.

He dumped their bags inside the room, pausing to take a good look around. It was chilly in here. The heater turned on with a click and a hum. Good. Hopefully it would be warm in the room by the time they finished their walk. Libby didn't need to catch anything else, the flu had been bad enough.

When he stepped back inside the hotel lobby, he felt Libby's familiar emotions but they were filled with annoyance and perhaps a little fear. In addition to her, though not nearly as strong, were the emotions of a stranger, curious and full of anticipation. What was going on?

"Libby?" he asked, approaching the sofa from behind.

A woman with perfectly sculpted hair sat next to Libby on the sofa. They both turned to look at him. Relief came from Libby and surprise from the other woman.

"He doesn't know your name?" the woman asked, not bothering to mask her disdain. She wrinkled her powdered nose at him.

"Dean? Would you like to meet someone I went to high school with?" Libby asked, waving at him to walk around.

High school. Least likely to have a relationship outside of a book. Typical Winchester luck.

Having a little better idea of the situation, he walked around to face the women. The woman with Libby was stylishly dressed, perfect hair, perfect make-up, sitting prim and proper with her knees pressed together and hands clasped in her lap. How should he play this? Making up his mind, Dean focused on Libby.

"Bags are in the room, Baby," he said, his smile sincere when he looked at her. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Celeste," Libby said. "We haven't seen each other since graduation."

That was fortunate, he thought to himself. She looked like a complete bitch. He put on his hustling smile in force as he stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Celeste. Dean Hunter."

"Are you two...together?" her voice dripped with sarcasm as she shook his hand. She looked at Libby as she withdrew her hand. "How much do they go for these days?"

Oh, what a bitch!

Libby's eyes went wide and she gasped, her whole body drawing back. "What!" Indignation similar to what she felt the time that creep tried to pick her up in the club rushed through her.

He considered letting her go off on the bitch, but she had been pretty sick and she was exhausted.

"Cheesecake," he stated before Libby recovered enough to respond.

"Excuse me?" Celeste asked. "I thought the reference was beefcake?"

"No, you asked what I cost," Dean replied. "One cheesecake." He grinned at Libby's quizzical look. "Remember that for our anniversary date, baby. You still owe me a cheesecake." He held out a hand.

Libby reached up to place her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet. "Ready for that walk?"

Dean could not find words to describe the warmth and joy encasing him now, so intense he could not feel his feet touch the ground and so heady it literally made him dizzy. He made sure his girlfriend was bundled up warmly before holding the door open so they could take their walk in the snow.

* * *

Dinner was like a Norman Rockwell painting. Mister Moore led them in a prayer of thanks after which Missus Moore insisted on serving them. It was really strange. Sam had thought people like this didn't exist outside of books or old movies. Then the front door opened and slammed closed.

"I'm home!" a male voice called out.

Sam looked to Jess for an explanation.

"My brother," she replied with a huff.

Jess had a brother? Highly curious, Sam watched the doorway to the dining room with interest. A young man, teenager, appeared wearing worn jeans and a faded sweatshirt.

"What's for dinner?" he demanded before plopping down in the chair next to Jess. He grabbed a plate and helped himself to the platters of food on the table. His parents both frowned over his bad manners.

He had stuffed half the contents of his plate in his mouth before he noticed Sam sitting across from him. "You Sam?" he asked through a full mouth. Too astonished to speak, Sam could only nod. Her brother wiped a hand off on his sweatshirt before raising out of his seat and extending his arm. Sam shook his hand briefly. "Frank."

"Nice to meet you, Frank," Sam said slowly as the fork flashed again, shoveling more food.

Sam had to chuckle over how familiar this sight felt. He met Jess' questioning gaze. "He eats like my brother."

"How many siblings do you have, Sam?" Missus Moore asked, pointedly ignoring her son as she offered the basket of rolls to Sam.

Sam took a roll. "Just one, my brother Dean. I'm going over New Year's to see him."

"That's nice," Missus Moore replied. "And where does your brother live?"

"Upstate New York," Sam replied.

"He's a teacher at a private school," Jess added.

"Really?" Mister Moore asked, sounding impressed. "A school teacher and an attorney in the same family. Sounds mighty respectable to me. What do your parents do, Sam?"

Frank grunted and rolled his eyes, but his jaw never slowed in chewing.

"Uh, my, uh, parents?" Oh, crap! "Well, my dad is a, uh, mechanic." At least this part wasn't a total lie.

"And your mother, dear?" Missus Moore prodded.

Sam frowned as he pondered the question. He had no idea if his mother had ever worked. "I don't know," he said honestly. "She died when I was a baby. Dad and Dean never talked much about her so I don't know if she had a job." He drummed his fingertips against the table. "Maybe I should ask when I see them."

"No one gives stay-at-home mothers any credit these days," Mister Moore declared. "It's a sad state of our society. That's probably why no one mentioned it, they took it for granted that you would know."

Sam started to protest when Missus Moore jumped in. "Now Henry. You haven't met Sam's family, you don't know what they're like."

"I don't have to meet them to know they couldn't possibly have appreciated her enough. Domestic Engineers used to be the backbone of this country. These days it's almost impossible for a family to operate off of a single income, which has led to the fractured families and morally bankrupt society we now live in." Mister Moore slammed a hand on the table to punctuate his point.

Jess and Frank exchanged long suffering looks.

"I prefer the term domestic goddess, thank you," Missus Moore said stiffly.

Mister Moore gave her a gentle smile. "Yes, dear."

This was weirder than most of the hunts Sam had been on. Were these people for real?

* * *

"Time to go back to the room," Dean announced even though to Libby they had barely walked at all.

"But we just came out here," she argued, enjoying the cold air and the gentle white flurries landing on her face.

His arm around her shoulders tightened. "We've been out here for twenty minutes, Libby. And you're so tired you keep leaning on me more and more."

She glanced up guiltily. "I do?"

He chuckled at her. "Yep." He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, I don't mind."

Dean rarely mentioned her emotions except like this, in a normal conversational manner, as if she had said aloud that she felt guilty about leaning on him. To prove his point he pulled her against him, forcing her to lean into him more. At the door to the room, Dean opened it and held it for her to walk through.

"Go ahead and take the bathroom first," he said, closing the door. "I have a feeling if I go first you'll be asleep before I come out."

Elizabeth wanted to argue but he was right, she felt tired. Now that they were inside and there was no pretty weather to watch, her feet grew two ton weights so she could barely shuffle them across the floor and her eyelids felt heavy. Gratefully, she took her turn first, changing into her regular pajamas with an extra sweatshirt pulled on top.

When she stepped out, Elizabeth noticed that the room was quite warm. Now how did that happen? Surely she had not been in the bathroom long enough for Dean to heat up the entire room?

"I turned on the heat when I dropped off the bags," Dean said to her unspoken question. "Or were you confused about something else?"

She shook her head. "That was it." He moved to walk by her, night clothes clutched in one hand and toiletries bag in the other. "Uh, there are two beds," she pointed out.

"Uh-huh." Dean paused outside the bathroom door, waiting for her to continue. She was not sure how to ask if it would be all right to snuggle tonight.

He pointed to the bed closest to the door. "I'm sleeping in that one. If decide to join me, you'd better leave that sweatshirt on or I'll be tempted to celebrate our anniversary early." Dean closed the bathroom door behind him.

"It's not early!" she shouted at the closed door.

"You know what I meant!" he shouted back, his voice echoing slightly from inside the bathroom.

Elizabeth studied both beds for a brief moment before bounding into the one closer to the door. She wriggled under the covers and hoped her favorite heat source wouldn't take too damn long changing clothes.

* * *

Sam draped an arm over Jess' shoulders. She rewarded him with a bright smile and a laugh that left a cloud of vapor in the cold air. They strolled through the neighborhood park and darkness settled over them as they left the bright streetlights behind a barrier of ancient oaks.

"That reminds me," Sam said, pausing and pulling Jess to a stop beside him. He dug through his pockets until he found the small tissue wrapped package. "My brother sent this for you."

"For me?" Jess asked, grinning. "What have you told him about me?" She giggled as she took it from his hand.

"Not much," Sam replied. "Just that you're amazing, beautiful, sexy..."

She batted at his shoulder and laughed before unfurling the tissue to reveal the necklace. Jess let out a little gasp, which was quickly overshadowed by a deep frown when she saw the pendant. "What is this? And why would your brother send it to me?" Her tone sounded accusatory instead of the 'oh how thoughtful' he had been going for.

"Oh, uh, well, it's a, um..." Sam swallowed hard. Why did he give it to her? Had he lost hid frigging mind? He could've kept it in his sock drawer and lied to Dean. It was sheer desperation that make the next words fly unbidden from his mouth. "It's solid silver. Isn't it nice?"

The frown faded as she stared at him. Then it disappeared as she laughed again. "You don't know, do you?"

Oh, thank you! Now he wouldn't have to come up anything right off. He could even pretend to call his brother later after he came up with a good explanation...

"Let's call him," Jess said, sticking her hands into her jacket pockets. "You should be calling him more anyway."

"What? Now? No, no. I can't. It's too late. He has a class in the morning." Sam mentally patted himself on the back. Good save.

Jess rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, come on, Sam! It's only two days before Christmas. Even private schools are on break." She nodded at the pocket where he kept his cell phone. "Call him."

Crap! "Jess..." he whined, trying to stall for time.

"I want to thank your brother personally," she persisted. "Hand me your phone and I'll call him."

Outmaneuvered once again by the psych major. With a sigh of defeat, Sam pulled out his cell while Jess beamed at him in triumph. Hopefully he would be able to either clue his brother in quickly or, better yet, leave a message. His second hope was dashed when his brother's phone only rang twice.

"Sam? What's up?" Dean's voice was soft, like he was trying to talk quietly.

"Hey, Dean. I was just giving Jess that necklace you sent and-"

"Dude, you waited this long!" he shouted and Sam winced. "Sshh... Sorry, baby. It's all right, go back to sleep." Sam rolled his eyes. Dean hadn't changed a bit, despite all the ridiculous claims in his letters. "You waited this long?" his brother repeated in a strained whisper.

Jess reached up to wrestle the phone from his hand, which Sam gave up reluctantly.

"Is this Dean?" Jess asked with a bright smile, her breath forming a constantly dissipating cloud in front of her. "I'm Jess and I wanted to thank you for the very unique necklace. What is it, exactly?"

Sam watched her reactions carefully as she nodded and listened to his brother. He hoped Dean would be able to come up with something right away. Jess was not the kind of person who could be put off.

"Really?" she asked, pulling the necklace from her pocket to study the charm. "No, I wouldn't have guessed that." Jess nodded at the string of silver dangling from her hand while listening to Dean. "Is there a reason you're whispering?"

Sam cringed. Judging by the way Dean had answered the phone, Sam guessed he had 'interrupted'.

"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that!" Jess gushed, the hand holding the necklace reaching out to punch him in the arm. "Sam didn't tell me."

Tell her what? Sam rubbed at the sore spot on his arm.

"Oh, dear. But she is feeling better now?" Jess asked. "You know, this summer we should see if... Sam didn't tell me that either."

Sam stepped out of reach before she could slug him again. There was absolutely no telling what his brother was saying to his girlfriend and she seemed to be buying every word.

"Oh, I see." She eyed him shrewdly with the phone pressed to her ear. "Would you mind if I told him? … Great. And I know he's really looking forward to New Year's. You do think you'll be able to make it, don't you?"

Sam's spine stiffened at the question. Why wouldn't Dean be able to make it? He and Dad set the date! His breath started coming in shorter bursts and those steel bands began to constrict in his chest. Crap! His pills were back at the house.

"Oh, good. I know Sam would be terribly disappointed." Sam managed to take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Dean was coming. "Absolutely. And thank you so much for the thoughtful gift! I can't wait to show my parents. … Uh-huh. It's been nice meeting you too." Jess giggled as she handed the phone back to Sam.

Dean always had been a charmer. Sam lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dude," Dean breathed out in the same soft voice from earlier, "you couldn't give a guy a little warning?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered with a shrug his brother couldn't see.

"You are wearing yours, right?" Dean demanded.

"Yeah. We were out taking a walk and it turned really dark in the park, that's what made me think of giving Jess hers," Sam explained.

He could swear the sound of Dean's rolling eyes came over the phone. "Tell me you took the jacket with you."

"It's in my bag," Sam replied weakly, knowing it wouldn't do him any good in there.

Dean's heavy sigh was full of disappointment. "Okay, Sam. I can't make you wear it. Look, unless there's something else, I need to let you go. It's late and I have a day's worth of driving ahead of me."

"What was that crap about someone feeling better?" Sam asked. "You never said anything about being sick."

"Not me," Dean replied in a loud whisper, "it's Libby. Call me tomorrow, okay?"

"Uh, all right. Bye, Dean." Sam disconnected the call. He lifted his head to watch Jess putting on her new necklace.

"Help me with this, Sam," she requested.

Sam instantly pulled off his gloves to secure the protection charm around her neck, feeling a huge measure of relief and gratitude when it was in place. "There."

"Thanks." Jess smiled again as she looked down at the charm. "What a thoughtful gift! Your brother must be a unique individual."

"That's one way to put it," Sam muttered to himself.

"Huh?" Jess' head snapped up to peer at him in the semi-dark.

"Uh," Sam cleared his throat, "I said he certainly is." He pulled his gloves back on.

Jess wound both of her arms around his right arm and walked close by his side. "I mean, how many people in this day and age actually study ancient myths and legends?"

Once again Sam's spine stiffened and those bands around his chest tightened.

"And for your brother to say he wanted me to have one of the most powerful protection symbols ever invented, mythologically speaking, because I apparently mean so much to you..." She leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Well, that's just sweet. And it tells me that you've been talking about me."

Sam allowed himself to relax a little. "Why did you hit me?"

Jess chuckled, hugging his arm and turning them around to head back to the house. "Because you didn't tell me your brother's girlfriend was sick. That's why he was whispering, you know, so he wouldn't disturb her."

"Oh." Sam shrugged. "I didn't know."

She gave him a funny look. "You don't act like you care, either."

Sam shrugged again. "Look, my brother goes through women the way most people go through Kleenex. It's no big deal. Honestly, I'm kind of shocked he's bothering to take care of whoever she is." Then he thought about that a little. "Okay, I'm not shocked he's taking care of her, I'm shocked he picked up a girl who was sick."

"Your family is a little strange, Sam," Jess replied slowly, staring at him with a funny expression.

She had no idea.

* * *

Dean's chest vibrated under her cheek as he talked softly on his cell phone. Elizabeth didn't pay attention to what he was saying, the fact he was here was enough for her. She clutched his shirt in her hand, holding him hostage as if he might escape at any moment.

"Go to sleep, Baby," he whispered, shifting down in the bed to wrap both arms around her. One large warm hand rubbed her back under her sweatshirt. "Relax, Libby. I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere."

"Better looking girls," she mumbled into his chest.

"But they won't let me call them Libby." His gentle chuckle came from far away, down a deep dark tunnel, while her body floated in a sea of warmth. She relaxed, his voice washing over her and lulling her to sleep. Libby was not a horrible name; Dean gave it to her. She could be a Libby. Well, she could be _his _Libby.

* * *

Bobby Drake sat up straight in bed drenched in sweat, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Frantically his eyes searched the dark room fully expecting to see a man with glowing yellow eyes standing in the corner. There was no one.

The dreams had been worse since coming home for winter break. At the institute they weren't this intense. Now it felt like the yellow-eyed man was in his room watching him. All the time. Despite the fact his pajamas stuck wetly to his body, Bobby grabbed the jacket Professor Hunter had given him when he left. The protection symbol covered the back of it. Bobby shrugged into it and zipped it up tight. He huddled against the headboard of his bed, arms wound tight over his chest and eyes tracking the unbroken salt barrier on his windowsill.

Maybe he should have told Professor Hunter about the dreams. Bobby was pretty sure his favorite teacher would have insisted he stay at the Institute if he had. At this moment Bobby would give almost anything to be back at the Institute in his room, with the protection symbols painted on his walls and under his bed. Here he felt exposed and vulnerable. Would his parents think it was too weird if he asked to go back to school the day before Christmas?


	55. Chapter 55: A Long Day

Chapter 55:** A Long Day**

Libby woke to the sound of a male voice from close by. She stared around the strange bedroom, her mind in a fog, until her gaze landed on the open bags waiting on the other bed. A wide smile spread on her face. Dean had been taking care of her. First the flu, then Celeste, their walk in the snow, and finally lulling her to sleep last night.

She had only had one serious boyfriend before meeting Dean. His name was Joseph. Joseph was a good guy, steady job as a corporate accountant, always well behaved, but he had never treated her like this. Elizabeth had been the one to break it off with him. She had come to the realization that Joseph would never make her feel special. If she couldn't have a man who would look at her like there was no one else in the room and treat her like she mattered, then she didn't need any man.

Speaking of feeling special, that was Dean's voice she could hear. Libby pushed up to a sit. She should go ahead and shower, but why was Dean outside the room? She opened the door to find him standing in the hallway.

"Yeah, he's definitely the need-to-know type," Dean said as he turned around. A bright smile appeared when he saw her and he waved her back inside the room. She stepped inside and he followed.

"Nah, I wouldn't worry about that. He's probably more tired of it than you are," Dean replied with a chuckle, closing the door. He checked his watch. "Look, we need to hit the road and Dad ought to be there within the hour. Don't keep him waiting. He's a pain in the ass when he's being a grouch."

Dean paused to listen and his eyes rolled. "Yeah, you're hysterical. Just make sure he doesn't get himself killed, all right?" He nodded at the air in front of him as if the person he was speaking to stood a couple of feet away. "Thanks, Logan. Dude, you have no idea how much I'm looking forward to hearing how it goes."

He chuckled as he slipped his phone into his pocket. "Want me to go pick up some breakfast while you shower? They have cold cereal, apples and oranges, some fruit and cream cheese pastry things, and waffles."

"Cream cheese _danish_ and coffee," Libby replied with a smile. "And thanks."

Dean winked as he left the room. She hoped he understood she meant more than just thanks for going after breakfast.

* * *

Dean headed back for the continental free breakfast, making his second trip of the morning. They would still need to stop for food in a couple of hours but Libby never seemed to mind. He supposed it was because she wasn't in a hurry to arrive, she was enjoying the trip with just the two of them and no interruptions. He couldn't remember such an enjoyable road trip.

Shame that woman last night had ticked her off so bad. It took almost the entire walk out in the cold snow before Libby managed to regain her regular composure and her emotions settled down close to normal.

He grabbed a plate and snagged about four of those cream cheese thingys, if Libby didn't eat them all he would. Next Dean chose two coffee cups. He filled one and set it aside. The second one he filled nearly all the way before adding in milk.

"Don't tell me she has you fetching her breakfast. Does that cost extra?"

Strong bitter emotions, like jealousy and Stryker-type holier-than-thou-ness, assaulted him from behind. Oh, crap. He required a couple of deep breaths before he could turn around and plaster on a fake smile.

"She who?" he asked innocently.

"Elizabeth _Wallflower_ Darling," the bitch from yesterday replied, one hand perched on her right hip.

"Oh, you're talking about Libby." Dean shrugged, returning his attention to preparing the second cup of coffee.

"Her name isn't Libby," she snapped. "How do you get Libby from Elizabeth anyway?"

"What was your name again?" Dean asked, focusing on stirring in sugar.

"Celeste," came the nasty voiced answer.

"Well, I don't see how you get bitch out of that, but you do." He balanced his plate of pastries on top of Libby's coffee to keep it warm. "Excuse me, bitch, but my girlfriend is waiting."

Her emotions turned really nasty then and Dean had no desire to identify them, so he tried to screen her out as he shoved by. Distance helped a lot. At the door to their room he realized that he didn't have a free hand to open it. He kicked at the door.

"Libby!" he shouted. "Libby!"

"Coming, coming!" she called from inside, much to his relief. The door swung open but he didn't see her, however he could tell she was very close. He stepped inside and the door swung to close behind him. When Dean turned around he discovered Libby standing there, dripping wet, wearing only a hotel towel.

Oh, God. That was even sexier than the damn pajamas. He slammed his eyelids closed against the sight. "Go dry off," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Sorry!"

He waited until he was certain she was safely behind the bathroom door. She was worth it. He could, uh, something. Oh, crap, what was his mantra again? Come on big brain – work!

* * *

John sat in the driver's seat watching impatiently while Logan tossed a bag into the footwell before stepping up into the truck. Compared with Dean, Logan had seemed smaller even if he was a little broader in the shoulders. Now, without comparisons, John could see this was a fairly big guy. Logan needed the bad attitude to intimidate people, his size alone not enough, but he had that in spades so no problem.

John headed for the interstate and their objective. He wondered exactly how much Logan knew and had retained. Dean was a good teacher, John could not argue that, but it didn't mean Logan was a good student.

"This ain't unconditional," Logan announced the moment they left school grounds. "I don't want ta hear the names Sam or Libby once. Are we clear?" His voice was a throaty growl which was quite intimidating.

"Only if you agree to only mention by son by his real name," John countered.

"Ya mean Dean?" Logan nodded, pulling a cigar from his shirt pocket. "No problem."

"Then it's a deal." John kept his window down despite the cold weather, expecting Logan to light up any second. After an hour where Logan appeared to be contented with chewing on the end of the cigar, he decided to put his window up and turn on the radio. John punched the play button on his tape deck.

Logan snarled, his head whipping around to glare. "You're kiddin' me, right?" One large hand waved at the radio. "You don't listen ta the same crap?"

"It's not crap," John snapped defensively. "It's good music."

The same large hand reached out to turn his music off. "Forget it. I'll put up with it for Dean. Not you."

"Why?" he asked honestly, less disturbed by the lack of music than that statement.

"Why what?" Logan grunted, resettling in the passenger seat with his arms crossed over his chest while staring out the window.

"Why will you put up with Dean listening to it?" John had not been around Logan much at all and never without his son around. He had no idea what to think of this guy. The relationship he had with Bobby was, to put it mildly, disturbing. At least one of them had to be mentally unbalanced to believe Logan was old enough to have served with Bobby.

"Ain't got a choice," Logan replied with an uncharacteristic sigh. "If I don't let 'im listen to it, he'll sing it. Listenin's easier." He grunted. "Learned that one the hard way."

"Good," John said. It made him feel better to know there were things Logan had to learn about his son 'the hard way'. "I don't suppose Dean mentioned that I like singing too?"

He could feel Logan's glare, two hot pinpricks of pure aggravation boring into the side of his face. Then again, hunting with Logan might be fun after all.

John kept quiet the rest of the way, more relieved than disturbed by the fact he had not been pestered about the hunt. When they pulled into the small town, he decided it was time to brief his back-up.

"You know there is a demon after the kids at the school," John began. "If I'm right about which demon it is, it's a real nasty customer. We're going to find out for sure."

"How?" Logan asked. There was no glaring or bitter faces made, the man sitting next to him waited patiently for his orders. Maybe this was the reason he and Dean got on so well, they did have personality traits in common.

John parked his truck a block away from the city courthouse. He pointed out the windshield as people unfortunate enough to be stuck working Christmas Eve filtered slowly out of the building after noon. "The local DA is a real hard-ass. Then suddenly, lately, he has been cutting some total scumbags breaks. Officially he says it's part of his campaign against crime, that he's after the big bosses behind it. I think he's possessed. As a matter of fact, I'm sure of it."

"What am I here for?" Logan asked, again not demanding, merely a request.

John paused for a moment before answering, temporarily thrown by not being asked how he was so sure. "You're bait," he told Logan honestly. "We're going to the poor sap's house. While you distract him, I'll set a trap. Once we trap it, I'll interrogate the demon possessing him before I send the bastard back to hell."

"So Dean finally told ya about me being a mutant?" Logan asked as he gave John a serious nod.

"Of course you're a mutant, you live at that school," John replied, refusing to show his surprise over such a stupid comment.

Logan's eyes narrowed. "No, Bub. I'm talkin' about how I'm a mutant."

John shrugged, shifting his truck back into drive. Their target just stepped out of the courthouse. "Nope, so it can't be that useful. Don't worry, I don't intend to let anything happen to you."

A dark chuckle sounded from the man seated next to him. Logan scratched at his cheek and the unlit cigar moved from one side of his mouth to the other. "This outta be fun." The grin on his face sent a cold chill down John's spine.

* * *

His original thought that John Winchester was more of a drill sergeant than a father looked pretty damn on target. Now that they was close to the objective, the man was barkin' out orders he expected to be followed. It was real clear now why he and Dean seemed to have so much in common, they had both been soldiers for A Long Damn Time.

Logan was already wearin' the anti-possession charm on a chain around his neck, even though it seemed kinda girly. Winchester tried talkin' him into wearin' one of the school jackets too. Seemed like overkill. He wouldn't even be wearin' the stupid girly charm if Dean hadn't made 'im promise.

"How much of a distraction do ya need?" he asked, surveying the large house down the block. The sun was low in the sky and it would start growin' dark soon.

"Long enough for me to paint a demon trap on the floor," Winchester explained. He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket.

"Yeah, I seen that before," Logan replied with a nod when Dean's father showed it to him. "I think that's what I carved into the marble at the front door of The Institute."

"You did that?" he asked. Then he shrugged, like it didn't matter one way or th' other. "I'll be using spray paint, but it'll still take a few minutes. And then we have to get the bastard to walk into it."

"No problem," Logan promised. "The real hard part will be keepin' him at the door. Any ideas?"

The other man pulled open the truck's glove compartment. He had a few dozen IDs that didn't require no picture, for reporters and the like.

"Here," he thrust one at Logan. "Say you're with the Chicago Tribune doing a story on crime in small to mid-sized towns. I don't care what you tell him as long as you keep him busy."

Great. Now this sounded like a lousy plan. Why was Dean always talkin' about what a great hunter his father was?

* * *

John picked the lock on the backdoor, counting on the lengthening shadows to hide him and the general lack of attention to happenings in their neighbor's houses shared by people who lived in the suburbs. He waited until he heard the bastard answer Logan's knock before pushing the back door gently open. It creaked a little, the hinges in need of oiling. John glanced both ways before stepping into the house. So far he was in the clear.

Pulling the picture from his pocket, he cast his gaze around for a good spot. In the middle of the den, plenty of room and fully accessible while still out of sight of the front door, looked promising. Plus there was a cheap area rug he could use to cover it up. John move stealthily through the house. He rolled back the rug and prepared to go to work.

"You want to interview me on Christmas Eve? Without an appointment. And where did you get my name anyway?" the DA, or rather the demon possessing the DA, asked.

"My boss," Logan's throaty voice, closer to a growl than anything, filtered into the house. John rolled his eyes at the lame answer. He had better be quick.

"Look, bub," Logan continued and John winced at the tone, "this ain't my idea."

"It ain't?" the DA asked. Bringing Logan had been a major mistake. "What kind of reporter uses ain't?"

"Yeah, the reporter thing was stupid," Logan replied. Crap, the symbol wasn't halfway done! "See, I'm only here 'cause I got this friend. He's s'posed to be here, but he had plans. So he asked me to, you know, stand in."

John rushed to complete the symbol. A little longer Logan, he pleaded silently.

"You're standing in for the real reporter?" the demon didn't sound like he was buying it and John couldn't blame him.

"Nah," Logan said with a chuckle. "I'm standin' in for the hunter who wants your hide."

The front door slammed closed. Oh, this was really, really bad. John planned to kick Dean's ass so hard that his son wouldn't be able to tell up from down anymore.

The next sound he heard was a deep thump followed by the creaking and splintering of wood. John pulled out his ever-present flask of Holy Water, hoping he would be able to hold off the demon's attack long enough to exorcise it or at least escape. An interrogation was out of the realm of possibility now that Logan had screwed this all to hell.

"Ain't nice, Bub!" Logan's voice roared. Now there was a crashing sound and the front door imploded. John watched splintered chunks of wood fly from the from foyer into the hall. Next the DA backed into view and he did look worried. Logan stormed in after him. "I told ya this was a favor for a friend."

Logan's body turned into a hurtling blur as he attacked the DA. Both men shot down the hall out of sight. Then again, maybe John would have time to finish the trap. He picked up his can of spray paint and set to work rapidly reconstructing the symbol from the paper Bobby had given him. Grunts, groans and growls came from the other end of the hall while he worked.

"Ready!" John shouted when the trap was complete. No need to cover it with the rug now. They were kind of beyond the need for subtlety at this point. "Logan!"

"Heard ya!" came the labored reply. "Ah!"

That was not a good sound. Armed with his Holy Water, John walked slowly into the hall having no idea what to expect.

Logan was pinned against the wall, blood pouring from open wounds in his face, neck, arms and chest. Oh, holy crap. Dean was going to kill him.

With a flick of his wrist, John sprayed the demon with his Holy Water. It sizzled and burned everywhere it made contact with bare skin, smoke came from where it soaked into clothing. The demon screamed, hands rising to the wounds on his face.

Logan dropped from the wall to his feet and remained standing. John stared at the sight, having expected Dean's friend to fall into a dying lump. He growled and the cuts covering him did not look as bad as they had a moment ago. The blood had already stopped flowing and the larger cuts were not quite as large as they had appeared.

"Now I'm mad," he grunted. He stood upright, still covered with blood but the big wounds were only small slits in his skin. He whipped his arms down and to the side. With an audible clicking noise, blades erupted from the backs of his hands and glinted in the hall light hanging over their heads. An animalistic cry preceded Logan charging at the demon again.

John moved out of the way, too stunned by what he was witnessing to attempt to interfere. Logan didn't appear to notice, his single-minded obsession to hurt taking over.

"You should be dying!" the demon screamed, jumping unnaturally high to avoid Logan's attack. "You can't do this!"

Logan paused, glaring at the possessed DA. "Yeah? Watch me, bub."

"In there!" John shouted, forcing himself to act before the moment was lost. He waved at the room with the trap.

Logan nodded as he charged. The claws disappeared before he tackled the demon. They rolled viciously across the floor, lots of spitting and hissing. Oddly none of it from Logan. When John blinked, the demon was on top. It had both hands around Logan's head and smiled victoriously.

"You're next, Winchester," it snarled before snapping Logan's head to the side. The smile slipped as it looked down.

Logan snarled. "Gonna haveta do better than that." One fist flew up, smashing the DA in the face and knocking him away.

The demon blinked up at the ceiling from its backside, stunned. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Logan grabbed the DA by the ankles and dragged him inside the symbol painted on the floor.

"Good?" he asked, panting a little and eying the trapped demon.

Nearly as stunned as the demon, John nodded. He owed Dean cheesecake. Chocolate-covered cheesecake. Maybe a half dozen of them.

* * *

Adam was waiting in the front yard when they pulled up. Dean grinned and waved but the kid didn't look, or feel, real happy.

"What is it?" Libby asked.

Dean shrugged. "Beats me. Let's go find out."

She waited while he walked around to open her door. Adam glanced back at the house several times before walking slowly up to them.

"I am so glad you're here," he muttered. "Mom's been in a mood all day."

"Any idea why?" Dean asked, motioning for the kid to come closer.

Adam grinned a little as he stepped into the one-armed hug. "Whatever it is," he said, both arms squeezing Dean tight, "I didn't do it."

Dean chuckled and ruffled his hair. "There'd better be pie."

Adam shrugged, releasing him. "Beats me. I haven't set foot in the house since noon."

The boy turned to face Libby, forcing a smile. "You must be Libby." He held out a hand. "I've heard a whole lot about you. It's nice to meet you." Adam glanced back at Dean. "Finally."

"Cute." Dean shoved his kid brother in the shoulder as they shook hands. "Come on, punk. Let's see what's eating your mom."

The instant they walked into the house Dean could feel a wrongness. He could not put his finger on what disturbed him but it was everywhere. All the small hairs on the back of his neck stood straight out and a tingle raced across his skin. It was the same tingle he experienced every time he was hunting and knew he was close to his prey. He couldn't shake the feeling.

"We brought you a school jacket," Dean announced in the small entryway. "Let's go get it."

He turned around, fully intending to shove everyone out the door, when Kate's voice rang out. "Are they finally here?"

She sounded pissed.

"Hey, Kate!" Dean called, injecting enthusiasm into his voice. "I hear there's a guest room?"

She stepped out of the kitchen into the den, eyes hard and cold, voice flat. A false smile, because there was nothing happy or upbeat coming from her, appeared. "For your girlfriend. You can sleep in Adam's room." She waved a wooden spoon stained deep blood red at them. "Go ahead and bring in your things."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean agreed quickly, turning and practically carrying Libby back outside.

"See what I mean?" Adam hissed from his side.

"Yeah." Dean let the shudder he had been repressing loose. "Dude, when you find out what put her in this mood, let me know. I want to make damn sure I never do it."

"No kidding," Adam replied with a nod. "You brought me a jacket?"

Dean did not allow himself to relax at all, but he had always been good at pretending. He plastered on a reassuring smile. "You bet. Libby, where'd we put Adam's jacket?"

"I think you stuck it in your bag," she replied.

Dean tossed Adam a wink. "It's so cool you're going to want to wear it all the time, even inside."

Adam's smile was genuine. "Come on, then! Hurry up! Where is it?"

* * *

Tying up a demon inside a trap sounded like a good idea. In theory. In practice, however, it was dangerous. Not to mention a real pain in the ass.

John stood back to survey their work. The demon was securely tied to a solid wood dining chair. It had been yelling and cursing them, spitting and snarling. Now it sat quietly, glaring at them with unconcealed hatred in its pitch-black eyes.

"Keep an eye on him," John ordered. "I need to go make a little Holy Water."

Logan nodded, meeting the demon's glare. "Take yer time."

Now for the hard part, making it talk.

* * *

Dinner was tense and tasteless. Normally Kate was a great cook. This stuff was barely edible. Dean even tried shaking out some energy to help her relax and enjoy the evening but it didn't work. Nada. At least they had a great excuse for going to bed early.

He yawned and stretched. "Man, I'm beat. Libby? How are you feeling?"

She cast a nervous glance at their hostess. "Pretty tired."

"We had a long drive," Dean said, standing up. "I think I'll hit the sack after Adam and I clear the table. Libby, that means you have first dibs on the bathroom."

Adam wore the jacket all through dinner. Kate did not look happy about it, but Dean couldn't tell if it was the fact Adam wore the jacket indoors or that Dean had given it to him in the first place. He had one for Kate too, but those hairs on the back of his neck told him to leave it in the car.

Kate nodded at them before leaving the table, letting them do the dishes unsupervised. Adam sighed deeply.

"Man, if I ever find out what set Mom off, I will make damn sure it never happens again."

"I'm with you there," Dean agreed. He nodded at Libby. "Go on. I'll come say goodnight when we're done here."

She chewed her lower lip giving him anxious looks while indecision filled the air between them. When she nodded it was reluctantly. Libby pushed slowly away from the table, her molasses movements giving away how tired she was. She didn't look any happier when Dean came by her room to tell her goodnight.

"We can leave tomorrow," he whispered in her ear. "After all, we have our own holiday to celebrate, right?"

Now her smile was real as was the happy anticipation she gave off. If only figuring out what was bugging Kate could be this easy.


	56. Chapter 56: Stroke of Midnight

Chapter 56: **Stroke of Midnight**

Logan stood against the wall watching Winchester work. A couple of times he had to look away, and that was sayin' somethin'. Good thing they had lunch 'cause there weren't no way he could eat supper after this.

Winchester poured Holy Water from his bucket into some of the open wounds. The demon screamed, high pitched and hysterical, while the flesh bubbled and boiled. Looked like that black smoke escape trick didn't work inside one-a these traps.

"I asked you a question," Winchester said real calm, like he tortured demons every day. "I want an answer."

The demon shook his head, little streams of blood and water runnin' down his face and neck. He laughed and the sound made Logan's stomach seize up.

"It won't help," the demon said, looking Winchester right in the eye. "Dean and little Sammy? You're worried about your boys, Johnny? Aw, that's so sweet."

Winchester reached for another cup of water.

"Go ahead," the demon taunted. "It won't matter. Kill this meatsuit. I was looking for a good excuse to off him anyway." His lips curled up in a bloody smirk. "We don't like busybodies like this running around."

Meatsuit? Sounded like the demon was as crazy as Winchester.

Winchester shrugged, pulling a thick leather book out of his jacket. The demon laughed again.

"Go ahead," Winchester said in the same voice, "laugh it up, sparky. Straight back to Hell." He gave the demon a piercing look over the top of his book. "Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

"Don't you want to ask me more questions?" The demon acted more scared now. About time.

"Why?" Winchester was gruff and to the point. "You don't know a damn thing." He flipped through the pages of his book. Logan caught a glimpse inside it. Most of it was handwritten, like a journal or diary. "Here we go." One finger tapped on the page as a wolfish grin spread. "I hear this one hurts going down, but it's not as bad as being there."

"So I answer your questions and you let me go?" he asked. "All I have to do is tell you which demon has yellow eyes?"

"Yep." Winchester kept his book open. "But you don't know, so why are you wasting my time?"

"An exorcism, now that's wasting time," the demon replied. "I can make this worth your while. How about not having to worry about Dean for the next ten years?"

"What?" Winchester's frame stiffened, as did Logan's spine. Logan pushed off the wall he had been leanin' against to take a couple-a steps closer.

"I can arrange that," the demon promised. "It's easy. Then you won't have to worry about that son. Sam I can't do anything about, but I can protect Dean. For ten whole years."

Winchester frowned and shot a hard look his way. Logan shrugged. Like he was s'posed to know what was goin' on here?

"Why can't you protect Sam?" Winchester demanded. Now he sounded more like a father than some soldier on a mission.

The demon smiled again. "I don't know, that's above my paygrade. But I can help out with Dean. Tonight." He glanced at the wall clock and his grin broadened when he saw the minute hand pointed straight up. "Now."

Logan was getting all kinds of bad feelin's. He reached out to tap on Winchester's shoulder, but Dean's Pop shrugged him off.

"What's the payoff?" the seasoned hunter demanded. "Let me guess. My soul?"

The demon shrugged, still smiling.

Winchester threw the cup of Holy Water in its face. "Get Dean on the phone," he barked as the demon howled in agony. "Now!"

* * *

Dean stared up at the darkened ceiling of Adam's room wondering what in the hell he had done to piss Kate off like that. She seemed to like the idea of Libby coming when he discussed it with her on the phone a couple of days ago. Story of his life – whenever something good happened, something else always had to come along and screw it all to hell. Like Sam's full ride to Stanford. Sam going to college should've been -

His cell went off, breaking his train of thought. Oh, now what? Somewhat relieved at being called with problems outside of this house, Dean rolled over to rescue his cell from his jeans pocket.

An ear-piercing scream coupled with sheer horror and terror ripped through the house.

Adam sat bolt upright, eyes wide open. "What was that?"

Dean knew but he was too busy charging out the door and down the hall to answer when the second scream erupted from behind the guest room door. He burst through the door and flipped on the light.

A tangled lump of sheets and white comforter writhed in the bed, an amorphous blob like something from a monster movie. Dean crossed the distance from the door to the bed in a split second, grasping the sheets in his hands and giving a strong pull. A dazed Libby rolled out of the mess, hair plastered to the sides of her face with sweat, breathing heavy. Her eyes blinked slowly open, fighting the grips of the nightmare she was having.

"Dean!" she breathed, both arms lifting and desperation and need filling the room. He scooped her into a tight embrace while whispering quiet words of reassurance into her ear. Her arms clung tight around his neck. He could almost swear he could feel how hard her heart pounded inside her chest and the fear and adrenaline coursing through her body.

At complete odds with Libby's horror-induced emotions, smug pleased feelings drifted from the doorway. Dean turned his head to see Adam and Kate standing there. Adam's confusion was familiar and easy to identify, but this smugness was new. It was not Kate. Most likely, it was wearing her.

"What was it?" he asked when Libby's breathing slowed and she could talk.

"Bad dream. Huge fire," Libby explained, still sounding out of breath. "It was all over, engulfing everything. Then a man walked out of it. I wanted to run away but the fire stopped me. He was horrible, Dean." She leaned into him, her head pressed tightly against his chest. "He had these awful glowing eyes."

"Yellow?" Dean asked. So far her story matched every nightmare from the kids at the Institute. She nodded against him.

He leaned back to smile at her and felt her relax, a little, but it wasn't exactly safe yet. "I know just the thing for that, but I need to run out to the car. How about I leave Adam here to protect you?" Dean winked, hoping she would take the cue and not ask why.

Libby swallowed hard, her gaze darting between him and the doorway, before she nodded. "Sure. If you say so."

Yep, she was definitely a 'keeper'. Dean pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead.

"Adam, you're in charge. I need your mom to help me grab some things from my car." He gave 'Kate' a knowing look and nodded towards the front of the house.

"We'll be right back, Adam," she said with a nasty grin and a casual wave.

Oh, he would enjoy this one.

* * *

"He ain't answerin'," Logan announced.

John's anger and frustration surged up and out his fist, crashing into the demon's face with an unsatisfying crack. The demon lifted its battered human head with a deep chuckle.

"Oh, Johnny. It's already started." He laughed in John's face. "I hope you said goodby the last time you saw him, because it really was the last time."

Every muscle and tendon in his body tensed, his nerves fired out orders to attack, hurt, maim, kill. His jaw clenched so tightly John could hear the strain in his teeth; they creaked. Mindless rage boiled up from deep within. John had not been aware of raising his fist to strike again, but he felt Logan holding him back.

"Let go," he growled.

"No, bub. It's my turn." John tried to fight the hands pulling him back but Logan was strong and determined. John spun to face his help on this case, determined to exert his authority. Instead he received a face full of three foot gleaming claws. The protest died on his lips and his rage settled. Some. Okay. Logan could take a turn.

Logan approached the demon, claws to the side.

"Find a new attack dog, Johnny?" the demon taunted with a sneer. "Thought you could do better than some worthless mutant." His black eyes peered around Logan at John. "Ol' Deano has been making some bad choices in friends lately, hasn't he?"

One set of claws turned the demon to face Logan, pressing hard enough into the flesh to make indentations but not hard enough to draw blood. "What do you know about Dean?" Logan's voice was a steady growl, perpetually angry, violence in every syllable.

The demon grinned brightly at Logan. "What don't I know?"

Logan made a nasty face. John wondered what he would do next when he saw trickles of blood running out from under the claws. Again the demon screamed, as if it had been doused with Holy Water. Logan shot John a questioning look, yanking his hands back and the claws retracting.

White smoke poured from each cut made by Logan's claws.

"What the hell are those?" the demon screamed, black eyes wide as it panted and stared at Logan's hands.

"Yeah, what are those?" John repeated.

Logan flicked his wrist and the claws erupted from his right hand. "Adamantium. Hardest alloy on Earth."

"That doesn't exist!" the demon yelled. "It's only a rumor!"

John gave Dean's friend a small grin in appreciation. "I like it. Let's see what this bastard knows about Dean."

* * *

Dean popped open his trunk, 'Kate' following close behind him.

"I thought you were teaching these days?" she asked, her voice cold and cutting.

"I am." Dean grabbed two canisters of salt before slamming the trunk lid closed. "We need to tell Adam the truth."

She shook her head and an ugly expression, along with emotional glee, appeared. Damn thing was playing with him. "Oh, no. I made John promise not to."

"Dad, not me," Dean pointed out, shifting one of the canisters to his empty hand. He flipped them so they were both upside down, then starting walking slowly towards the house. "I never promised."

"I'll take Adam and disappear," she threatened as Dean popped both salt canisters open with his index fingers. Salt poured out on each side of him. He sped up to walk in front of her, forcing her to stop.

"You can't do that," he protested, like he actually believed her. Dean gave a quick shrug of his shoulders to beef up the energy field surrounding him, willing it to project extreme fear. Admittedly, not a huge stretch.

"Oh, he's afraid of being abandoned. Again." She gave him a triumphant smile as he faked a look of shock. "Isn't that right, Dean? Everyone you love abandons you?"

Dean dropped his head low and walked around her on the other side, his ring of salt around the demon nearly complete. He continued pouring it behind her.

"What is this?" she asked pleasantly, one house-shoe clad foot in the air to take a step but unable because of the solid lines of salt in her way.

"It's called a trap, bitch," Dean growled.

She spun to face him. "You were scared!"

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't mean I didn't know exactly what you were."

Then she smiled gleefully. "You're in your underwear. I don't suppose you have an exorcism ritual tucked away in your tighty-whiteys?" She cackled, black film covering her eyes. "If you want Adam's little mommy to come out of this in one piece, I suggest you let me go. I'm only here for you anyway."

Oh, wonderful. His presence had endangered Adam and Kate.

Dean wondered briefly over the ritual tucked in his underwear statement until he realized it had to come from the demon on the bus. "That was you?" he demanded. "Do you have something against kids going to the mall?"

"Those kids." A bitter look came over her face. "You don't understand how dangerous these mutants are. They'll destroy the human race."

"Uh-huh. And I suppose you're going to explain it to me?" Dean asked sarcastically. The bitch didn't know he was one too?

"I can." She batted her eyes at him and ran both hands down Kate's chest. "Among other things."

"Oh, dude, that's just wrong!" Dean snapped. He launched into his memorized exorcism ritual; on the last word Kate's head snapped back and her mouth opened. Dark smoke billowed out, a swirling tornado of evil, which then dove straight down into the ground beside her. Dean caught her body as it crumpled bonelessly towards the snow covered ground.

She was lighter than he expected. He carried her to the house, managing to open the door with the hand under her knees. Depositing her on the couch, he yelled "Adam!"

"Mom!" Adam hollered as he raced into the den. "What happened?"

Dean shrugged, trying to play it off. "I guess she passed out."

Libby gave him a meaningful look and waves alternating between worry and curiosity pelted him.

"Adam, is there any paint in the house?" Dean asked as the teen boy hovered worriedly over his mother.

"What? There's something wrong with my mom and you want paint!" he shouted, anguished worry racing out in torrents.

"She'll be fine," Dean assured the kid. "But maybe I should make a call."

* * *

Bobby Singer spewed profanities with each step from his bedroom to the ringing phone. It stopped the moment he reached out for it. Not to be outsmarted by some damned pieced of technology he waited, staring venomously at the contraption. He checked the clock on the wall, it was nearly one in the morning.

The instant Bobby turned his back, the ringing started again. Darting across the kitchen to the grease-stained phone, which once upon a time could have been called white (when it was new), he snatched the receiver from its cradle.

"What the hell do ya want?" he shouted into it because, god-damn-it, if somebody wanted to wake him at this god-forsaken hour of the morning, whoever it was deserved to go deaf in one ear.

"Hey, Bobby, it's Dean."

Dean. Oh, holy crap. What happened with that boy now? Bobby rolled his eyes and looked up for guidance before speaking again. "Uh, hey, Dean. What's going on? Because it had damn well better be big!"

"Does Libby having a dream about fire and the demon with yellow eyes count? Or would Adam's mother being possessed be better?"

Dean did not sound like he was having a fun night. Bobby tried to rub the sleep from his eyes as he sat at his kitchen table.

"Okay, boy. What happened? And I want all the details."

Honestly, he should've known better than to ask for ALL the details, but he did. So Bobby tried to be patient while Dean described the lousy dinner and going to bed. Finally he reached the good part, with Libby screaming and the demon admitting she was possessing Kate. Now Kate was unconscious on the couch.

"I doubt it was in her that long. You said Adam mentioned she was in a bad mood? Did he say when it started?"

"Uh, I think he said she had been in a bad mood all day," Dean replied.

"Good. It probably means that she was only possessed for the day," Bobby said with relief. "Most likely she's just exhausted. If you can't wake her up soon, you can take her to the hospital to be checked out, to play it safe."

"Right. No problem," Dean assured him. "That's what I thought too."

Uh-huh. Knowing Dean, he was calling because he didn't know if he should take a possession victim to the hospital or not. At least the boy was willing to listen to good advice.

"I don't suppose you've heard from your daddy?" Bobby asked. "He bolted from Jim's place a few days ago. Bastard didn't even leave a note."

"Yeah, he's on a hunt with Logan." Dean chuckled. "Man, I am really looking forward to hearing about this one."

"With Logan?" Bobby repeated, astounded. "No kidding? Yeah, I'd like to hear about that one too."

"I'll have Logan call you," Dean promised. "I'd better go back inside before my toes freeze off. Later, Bobby. And thanks."

"Bye, Dean."

Bobby hung up the phone in a much better mood than when he answered it. Demons, dreams and possessions aside, it was always good to hear that kid's voice. Kind of made him feel...needed.

He was halfway to his bed before the comment about Dean's toes freezing off penetrated. Better not to worry about the little things, he decided and crawled between his cold sheets.

* * *

Dean walked inside the house to a scene with Adam sitting on the floor beside his mother holding her hand while Libby held a glass of ice water and after dipping her fingers in it flicked droplets on Kate's face.

"How's it going?" he asked, moving to stand beside Adam.

Adam looked up with a fearful gaze. "She's not waking up," he said in a shaky voice. Poor kid was barely holding it together. He was so full of fears Dean didn't have a prayer of screening them out.

"I'm sure this will work," Libby said confidently, although she felt anything but confident. She sprayed Kate's face again. This time she was rewarded with a soft groan. Dean motioned for her to do it again. With the next spray, Kate's head rolled to the side and the annoyance people felt when they were awakened early spread from her.

With a bolt of fear Kate jumped to a sit, her eyes wide open and darting around the room while she panted and panic, electric emotional bolts, seared through Dean's chest. He swallowed a gasp and pressed his hand against the sore spot while he kneeled beside her.

"Kate?" he asked gently. "Do you know where you are?"

Her head snapped to the side, her eyes still wide and unfocused, her breathing heavy. She stared at him for a long time before her brow furrowed. "Dean? Is that really you? What are you doing here?"

Adam surged up from his spot beside his mother to hug her tightly, his fear thick and the acrid taste stinging the back of Dean's throat. Kate's arms came up to return the hug but her focus was still on Dean.

"Yeah. It's me." He waited a moment and all she did was stare at him, a prisoner of her panic. The sore spot, right in the middle of his chest, throbbed with her panic. He needed for her to begin to think rationally. "Kate, is there any reason I shouldn't be here?"

Kate swallowed hard, the panic beginning to ebb away slowly with fear creeping in to take its place. "Uh, I didn't think you would be here until tomorrow, Christmas Eve."

She lost a whole day, just like Bobby said. "It is Christmas Eve," he replied, knowing no way to break it to her gently. Kneeling like this put Dean eye to eye with Kate. "It was a demon."

Kate shook her head, tears forming in her eyes to stream down her cheeks and overwhelming fear coursing from her, bathing the room with its tart tension. She hugged Adam tighter. The kid did not say anything as his fear doubled, mingling with Kate's to the point Dean could not tell who was more scared. At least the panic was gone.

He looked over the back of the couch at Libby. "Would you grab that package for Kate?"

She rushed from the room, setting her glass of water down on an endtable on the way.

"It was a demon, Kate," Dean repeated firmly. "I think it came here for me. You have a couple of choices. Either you can stick your head in the sand, pretend it never happened and ban me from coming over and calling, or you can face the facts and take a few precautions."

Adam was so scared he was crying against his mother's stomach. Kid had already been right on the edge, it wouldn't have taken much to push him to this point. Talking about demons felt like overkill. Dean wasn't sure what to do, not even when his hand went out to rest on the boy's back. The kid settled down a little at his touch, which was kind of shocking. Dean rubbed in small circles on Adam's back as Kate lifted a hand to wipe her eyes.

"If you promise to keep coming for visits, we'll take whatever precautions you say," Kate stated, her voice full of forced confidence. "And you can tell Adam about your other job." Her voice cracked then, not that Dean blamed her.

"Dean?" Libby said softly. He had barely noticed her return to the room. She held out the tissue wrapped necklace. Dean took it from her hand with a smile of gratitude. He unwrapped it to reveal the thick silver rope chain with two pendants dangling from it.

"This one," he said, pointing to the circle surrounding a pentagram, "is for protection in general from all kinds of supernatural creatures. This," he tapped the narrow silver charm, "prevents the wearer from being possessed."

"By demons?" Kate asked, her trembling hand reaching for it.

"Yeah." Dean helped fasten it around her neck. He sat in the floor to chat for a while, knowing none of them would be able to go to bed now. Dean heard his cell go off. He excused himself to answer, remembering that someone had tried to call earlier. Dad. Now what?

* * *

Logan rested his claws against the demon's face, holding it captive, while Winchester tried calling Dean again. Damn kid better pick up or Logan would have to hunt his ass down and give it a good kickin'.

"Dean!" Winchester shouted, angry and relieved all at the same time. He began pacing in the hall. "Why the hell weren't you answering your phone? There's a demon – what?" He stopped pacing, his mouth drawing down into a deep frown. "How is she?"

Logan looked over. She? She who? Libby? The kid brother's mom? Better not be Libby, Logan thought. He didn't want to have ta deal with the aftermath of that, whatever 'that' was. Libby bein' sick had been downright miserable, Dean moody and cranky for three straight days until she was bein' more of a pain than real sick. He couldn't imagine what Dean would be like if -

"Need any help demon-proofing?" Winchester asked. "We can leave tomorrow by-"

Winchester's face went kinda white then. "Now?" he asked, his voice creakin' a little bit. "Actually, I have a demon to exorcise here."

The demon jerked, shooting Winchester a dirty look.

"You didn't really believe we was lettin' ya go?" Logan said with a chuckle.

"Let Logan do it?" Now he was gettin' dirty looks from both sides. "Don't tell me Logan can read Latin. … And how is he supposed to exorcise the demon without reading Latin?"

"Ya need this creep fer anythin' else?" Logan demanded. People really shoudn't talk about him like that, and right in front of him too.

Winchester shook his head, still glarin'. "I don't think we'll get anything else useful out of him."

Logan stepped back, out of the symbol painted on the floor. He stared down the demon and began to recite the ritual Dean made him learn. They had been practicin' it almost every day since the school field trip.

The demon started growlin' and snarlin', that wood chair bouncin' on the floor as it tried to escape. He kept saying the words that didn't make no sense while the man in front of him dropped his head low. With a shudder that shook the floor, his head snapped backwards and his mouth opened wide. The same nasty black smoke that had been in that cop came flyin' out. It took off through the floor.

The guy sagged in the chair unconscious. Was that it?

Winchester sighed from behind him. "Fine. Put Adam on." He covered the mouth part of the phone with one hand. "Logan, go dial 9-1-1 in the kitchen. Don't say anything, just bang the phone on the counter a couple of times to make some noise and then leave it off the hook. We're out of here."


	57. Chapter 57: Questions

Chapter 57 – **Questions**

Adam sat on the floor by his mother's feet, her hand stroking his hair, while he peppered Dad with question after question on the phone. Dean doubted it was the answers making Adam feel better, it was more likely the sound of Dad's voice doing that. It usually worked for him too.

Libby bustled from the kitchen with a fuzzy blue robe wrapped around her carrying two mugs of hot coffee. She handed one to Kate and the other to Dean. As she passed his mug over he grabbed her hand to tug her down. Libby flopped on to the couch beside him. She was exhausted. Tucking her feet under her, she rested her head against his chest as he wrapped a protective arm around her. Instantly her emotions surrounded them, cloaking him in warmth and affection and shielding him from the strong levels of fear in the room.

"You two are so sweet," Kate said in a hushed voice, intruding on their moment. Dean was slightly annoyed but Libby wasn't. She smiled and wormed an arm around his waist with a contented sigh.

"Disgusting, right?" Dean asked, anticipating the slap before it landed on his abdomen. He chuckled over it, half his attention still focused on the conversation Adam was having with Dad. The coffee was strong and hot, perfection.

Kate sighed and continued to stroke Adam's hair. "I don't see how you can act so normal with all of this..." She made a wide sweeping motion with her hand.

Dean shrugged. "Well, first off, I grew up with this. And second, should I go live in a dark hole someplace?"

"Better not," Libby mumbled against his chest, her eyes closed. Dean grinned at the sight, knowing with the way she had been feeling earlier there was no way she could have gone back into the guest room and fallen asleep.

"I can't imagine," Kate said in a hushed voice as Libby's arm tightened around him, or maybe he imagined that part. Either way, Dean wouldn't change his life, not one day of it. Well, there was that incident in the janitor's closet when he was fifteen he could do without, but you know, other than that...

* * *

John promised to see Adam in a couple of days before he hung up. God, when had being a father become so freaking complicated. Never mind. He knew the answer to that. One more bit of business to take care of now.

"Logan?" he glanced at the man driving his truck so he could talk on the phone. "Nice work back there. Who taught you the exorcism ritual?"

Logan shot him a hard glare, a silent accusation of being a complete moron. That meant the answer was Dean, of course.

"Dean doesn't have it memorized," John replied carefully, not caring for a reappearance of those claws in the confined space of his pickup cab.

"He does now," Logan grunted, his shoulders hunching in a shrug.

"Did something happen? To cause him to want to memorize it?" John wanted to know. To be honest, the situation at Kate's made more sense now that he knew Dean had the ritual memorized.

Again Logan shrugged. It was worse than trying to talk to Sam. Sam went on and on and on about how things were 'supposed' to be to the point you couldn't squeeze a word in edgewise. Logan went quiet. Totally different methods and yet both were highly effective at avoiding real conversation.

"So you heal fast, huh?" John tried to make a little conversation. There were still over three hours out from the institute and Logan refused to listen to his music. Logan grunted. He supposed that meant 'yes'. "I guess that was why Dean said you could go with me."

Now Logan nodded. "Asked me to keep an eye on ya for 'im."

John shook his head. "I should have known. I guess I should've been suspicious when he agreed to ask you to come so quickly."

Logan frowned and shot him a hard look. "You asked fer me? It wasn't Dean's idea?"

"No," John replied before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth.

"Why? I didn't think ya liked me." Logan made a quick grunting sound. "Not that it ain't mutual, bub."

John Winchester had never been destined for an easy life, that was pretty damned clear. "Because you're Dean's friend. I thought I should get to know you a little better."

The look Logan cast his way this time was probing and lasted longer than the glares had. "No kiddin'?"

"No kidding," John asserted. "I think I'm starting to understand what he sees in you." Logan's cigar bobbed up and down a couple of times. John figured it was killing the guy not to ask. "You two seem to have some similar personality traits."

Logan let out a half grunt, half chuckle. "Looks like." His head gave a short side-to-side shake, like John had just made the stupid statement of the century.

"But I still can't figure out why you and Bobby seem so close," John tried to hedge his way closer to an answer.

"Singer? Aw, me the the rookie go way back," Logan replied. "He nearly got his leg blowed off tryin' to save me from a mortar." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling in a manner John had come to realize was Logan's brand of affection. "Stupid rookie."

"Uh, I thought Bobby served with your father," John said, less of a question and more of a statement. "Unless... The human aging process is basically our bodies breaking down and wearing out. With the way you heal, I'm guessing you don't age."

Logan made a clicking sound with his mouth. "Startin' ta see why Dean talks the way he does about ya."

"Which is?" John asked, genuinely curious.

"Like you c'n walk on water." The answer was followed by another one of those hard looks. "Don't think ya c'n, do ya?"

"No." John shook his head. "And I doubt Dean does either."

"Eh," Logan grunted, one side of his mouth twisting in a snarl, "don't bet on that."

"I like the claws," John added, hoping to change to a more comfortable topic. "I'm guessing that's another reason Dean was so anxious for us to go together."

"Speakin' of bein' a pain in the ass," Logan said, "there's somethin' I was wantin' to ask you." He glanced over, his eyes cold and hard. "The kid always been like this?"

"A pain in the ass?" John chuckled, relaxing into his seat. "More or less. Most of it's harmless, just his personality." Logan grunted again like he had already figured that much out. "But lately, since the mutant gene became active, well, he's been a lot pushier. In more ways than one."

"Yeah?" Logan frowned, his cigar bobbing downwards. "How?"

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not knowing if this betrayed a confidence or if it could be justified as information Logan needed to know. He weighed his options quickly, the countryside passing rapidly in the darkness outside the truck.

"Have you noticed that the people around Dean all seem to be in the same kind of mood as he is?" John asked carefully.

"Hang on," Logan said gruffly, making a sharp right turn off the road. The truck bounced and shuddered until Logan managed to bring it to an abrupt halt, throwing John all over the cab in the process. He took the cigar out of his mouth to point at John like a weapon. "What're you sayin' here, bub? Dean is makin' people like him? 'cause that ain't like him."

"I doubt that," John replied truthfully. "No, what I'm trying to say is...he leaks."

"Leaks?" Logan's face reflected pure confusion. "Leaks what?"

"Emotions." It was John's turn to shrug. "If Dean is feeling something deeply enough, so is everyone around him."

Logan scowled. "Nah, that don't make sense. He likes that irritatin' woman and I sure don't. She ain't even as good lookin' as her friend with the purple hair."

"Have you been around him when he's with her?" John pressed.

"Nah," Logan replied with a scowl. "It's too disgustin'. All happy and gooey eyes, like a pair of the kids. And..." his voice trailed off suddenly, the scowl dropping away.

"And it makes you feel happy and gooey too, right?" John guessed. He waved a hand. "He leaks. All right, I'm willing to bet if you're as good friends as you seem to be, Dean has roped you into watching some of his monster movies. Right?" He waited for Logan to nod slowly. "Do you like them more with Dean there or without?"

"Can't stand 'em when he's not watchin'," Logan admitted, his voice slow and his eyes narrowing. "Not even the good ones."

"That's because you're not the one who likes them, Dean is," John replied, feeling more like he was betraying Dean's confidence at this point even though his son was not aware of the leaking. "He leaks. He honestly doesn't know it. I don't think he can help it, so I figured he didn't need to know."

"No?" Logan's frown was deep and his head shook once again. "Your turn drivin'."

John switched places, taking his turn behind the wheel. "Does Dean ever let you drive?" he asked out of curiosity as he pulled back on to the highway.

"Yeah, he know I don't mind," Logan grumbled. "Now shut up. I'm thinkin'."

It seemed to be a monumental task so John did as the man asked and kept quiet. After an hour of silence John sneaked a peek to validate his suspicion that Logan was actually asleep. The snore a few seconds later confirmed it. It was all John could do not to laugh aloud. Yeah, Logan was clearly _real_ worried about Dean's emotions leaking. His son chose good friends, he had to admit.

* * *

After dropping Logan off at the Institute, John headed straight for Kate and Adam's house. He had to pull over to nap a few times but overall he made great time, arriving just before dawn the day after Christmas. Exhausted, John considered sleeping in the truck to avoid waking anyone in the house when light from the front door blasted out into the night. A male figure walked out wearing his old favorite leather jacket.

"Hey, Dad," Dean said in a quiet voice, pulling open his truck door. "Good to see you."

Without a word, John drew his son in an embrace, holding tight until Dean began to squirm. He pulled away, running his hands up to frame a thankfully still youthful face. "When did you grow up, huh?"

Dean's eyes rolled. "About a million years ago."

John chuckled even though there was a little too much truth in that statement. "Smartass." His hands landed on those broad shoulders to give an affectionate squeeze.

"After we have some daylight I'll show you what I've already done," Dean replied, stepping away. "Then you can add whatever you still think they need. But what they really need..." He gave John a glare that could stop a werewolf in its tracks. "Is reassurance."

Oh, crap. Reassurance was not exactly his strong suit.

"You need the practice anyway," Dean said with a calculating look.

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "Gee. Thanks."

Dean's hard look broke with a grin. "Smartass."

Then John did something he had not done since his son was about ten, he slung an arm over Dean's shoulders to walk up to the house with him. "So is the famous Libby here too?"

"Famous?" Dean asked with a suspicious glance. "What do you know about Libby?"

"A whole lot more than you've told me," John groused. "I have to hear you have a girlfriend from Bobby? And Logan?"

Dean's head dropped, embarrassed. "Well, you did say she wasn't much to look at."

One careless comment brought all this on? John scrubbed a hand across his jaw, wishing he had more sleep and more practice with controlling his emotions to deal with this situation.

Dean's head lifted to stare at him. "Who are you irritated with?" he demanded.

"Me," John snapped. "You know, just because someone has a negative emotion, it doesn't have to be about you." Oh, he was way too tired for this. "I think I need some shut-eye."

His son paused before the door, holding John back from going inside. "Really? You're irritated with yourself? Why?"

John sighed, desperately searching for a way of putting this off until he could think clearly. "Can't we talk about this tomorrow? I've been on the road for days."

"What else is new?" Dean asked while peering curiously at him, like a lab rat. "Come on, Dad. No more secrets, remember?"

"Not a secret," John protested with a shake of his head. "I'll tell you anything you want to know after I've had a little sleep."

Dean moved to block the door with his body. "Nope. I want to hear it now. I'm a little sick of the sugar-coated crap from you. Spill."

"Spill?" John snapped before he could stop himself.

Dean's cocky grin made an appearance. "Yes, sir. Spill."

Was he being respectfully disrespectful? Or disrespectfully respectful? "How about some coffee?" John tried. "Please?"

Dean's grin remained fixed firmly in place as John's resistance wavered. His head cocked slightly to one side and the grin widened at the moment John realized he would not be able to hold out.

"I'm mad at myself because some stupid comment I barely remember making kept you from telling me that you have a real girlfriend." He grunted, most likely from hanging around Logan too much lately. "And I had to hear about it from Bobby."

"Jealous?" Dean's head shook as he chuckled and pushed open the door. "How about I promise to call you first from now on?"

John gave his son a wary look. "Really? You're, uh, not mad at me?"

Dean pulled him inside and tossed an arm over his shoulders. "No, Dad." He chuckled again. "Tell you what, we'll be staying for breakfast. You can do something Bobby hasn't yet. Sit down and talk with her."

He wasn't in trouble. John couldn't have expressed his relief and for a moment he forgot that he didn't need to. "I think I'd really like that, son."

Dean squeezed his shoulders, closer to a hug than the manly gesture his son was no doubt going for. "Great. You get the couch." He motioned to the sofa already made up like a bed, complete with pillow and blankets. "I'll wake you when there's coffee. Not before."

"You're a great kid." He ruffled his son's hair, rewarded with a boyish grin and the light sparkling in Dean's eyes that made his heart beat a little harder.

"Night, Dad," Dean replied with a chuckle, drawing away.

"Night. You're sleeping in Adam's room?" John asked, dropping down to the couch.

"Not tonight." Dean winked as he left the room.

John chuckled, kicking off his boots. At least some things hadn't changed. That was a relief.

* * *

Logan leaned back on the rec room couch, bottle of beer by his feet and bag of chips by his side. He heard movement from the doorway. The squeak of shoes on the wood floor was intimately familiar.

"C'mon in, Summers."

Scott Summers walked slowly into the room, glancing between him and the television. "Aren't you the one who calls television an idiot box?"

Logan grunted, lifting the remote to stop his movie. "Blame Hunter," he replied. "Damn kid likes these stupid movies."

Summers sat at the end of the long couch. "If it's stupid, why are you watching it?"

"I think I like this one." Logan reached down for his beer.

"Uh, I don't suppose?" Summers gestured at his hand.

Logan glanced around, making sure there were no kids eavesdropping. He nodded at the section of couch where Summers sat. "Look under that cushion."

Summers frowned as he stood to lift the cushion. Underneath it was a plastic lid. He lifted the lid to reveal Dean's convenient beer stash.

"Kitchen is too far for a cold one," Logan explained.

Summers removed one before placing the cooler lid and the cushion back in place. "Sounds like Hunter." A smile crossed his face. "Both things." He motioned with the beer at the blank television as he sat a little closer to Logan. "So what is this movie you think you like?"

Logan hit the play button on the remote, revealing giant ants devouring a forest. Summers chuckled as he opened his beer. "I remember watching this when I was a kid."

Logan glanced over, unsure if Summers was serious or messin' with him. "Really?"

Summers nodded. "Yeah. The director of our orphanage didn't care what we watched as long as it wasn't rated R."

Logan grunted. Yeah, that made sense. Dean probably had even less supervision when he was a kid.

"When is Hunter due back?" Summers asked.

Logan shrugged. "Him and Libby is s'posed to leave in the mornin'. That'll put 'em here day after t'morrow."

"But he's leaving again for New Year's weekend, right?" Summers asked, soundin' real casual-like. "That's what Professor X said."

"Yep," Logan grunted. They watched the rest of the movie without talkin'. When Logan shut it off, Summers chuckled.

"I guess I never figured you for the monster or disaster movie type," he said, collecting their empty beer cans. "I assumed you'd go for pure action."

"Why did ya want to know when Hunter'll be back?" Logan asked.

Summers paused and stared at Logan for a moment. "There isn't anyone sneaking around outside, in the hall?"

Logan listened carefully. He scented the air. Nuthin'. He shook his head.

"We may need to send him and Ororo back to see Stryker," Summers explained. "But after last time, what with Hunter being totally worthless and sleeping pretty much all day the day after, Xavier is talking about sending a couple of their official bodyguards along. He's hoping we'll provide some emotional buffer for Hunter."

"We?" Logan motioned between himself and Summers. "As in you and me?"

"Yeah." Summers frowned. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"Stryker don't seem to care for bodyguards," Logan pointed out, sidestepping the obvious problem of Dean not liking Summers. How much emotional buffer could the guy be if Dean didn't like him in the first place?

"He won't have a choice. The meeting will be in the Princess' local residence, a ritzy hotel suite." Summers grinned. "I am actually looking forward to hearing the explanations they come up with this time."

"Takin' bets?" Logan asked with a grin. He could always use a little more of Summers' money.

"No." Summers shook his head, chuckling again. "Not even about Hunter dating The Librarian, although I have no idea how that could possibly work. That man has cost me enough money, thanks."

"What's wrong with him datin' The Librarian?" Logan demanded, not that he hadn't thought the exact same thing.

"It's not that there is anything wrong with it," Summers protested, "they just seem to be, well, from different worlds. You know what I mean? I don't see where they would have anything in common."

"Don't say that to Dean," Logan warned.

Summers frowned. "Is Dean Hunter's real name?"

"Yeah, and he's a little touchy when it comes to Libby." Logan paused for a moment, making a choice. "As a matter of fact, he's real touchy when it comes to Libby. If you don't wanna find yourself on the receivin' end of a beatin', don't say nuthin' about them not, uh..."

"Not being a good match?" Summers asked. "Okay. I can do that. I'm not trying to tick him off, Logan."

Logan glared. "If I thought ya was, I wouldn't be tellin' ya the best way to do it."

He expected a glare in return, not the surprised laugh flying out of his team leader. "No, I don't expect you would." Summers chuckled as he walked out of the rec room carrying their empty beer cans. "I'll take care of these. Later, Logan."

"Yeah. Night." Logan checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly three in the mornin'. He would do another patrol of the kids' dorm rooms, listenin' for the sounds of nightmares, before headin' to the gym. Since he couldn't sleep no how, he might as well put in a little quality time with the punchin' bag.


	58. Chapter 58: Stressed

Chapter 58 – **Stressed**

Dean woke with Libby clamped to him, her arm a vice over his chest, both her hands wound tight in his nightshirt. Clearly she must have noticed when he slipped out to let Dad in. He brushed stray strands of hair from her face before gently stroking her cheek.

She stirred slightly in her sleep. Since there was no way he could escape without waking her, Dean relaxed and listened for the sounds of other people moving around in the house. He might have heard someone in the kitchen, he could not be sure.

He brushed the side of her face gently using his fingertips. Even while sleeping her emotions projected, a perpetual source of sweet warmth in the bitter realities of the world around them. The fact she was having dreams about the demon had him ready to head back as soon as possible. Fortunately they would be able to leave for the Institute today since Dad had finally arrived.

Dad being here alone must mean Logan was back at the Institute. He could keep an eye on Libby while Dean went to Jim's cabin to see his family. Yeah, that was a good plan. He could trust Logan to watch out for her.

Libby stirred again, her head burrowing harder against him. Dean shifted to move her into a position with less strain on his shoulder. Her pretty multi-colored eyes, deep green on the outside shifting into deep blue at the pupils, flashed open. Instantly a gentle smile appeared on her face and she gripped him tighter.

"You were one of those girls who slept with stuffed animals, right?" Dean asked, only half-teasing.

Libby's laugh rippled over him with a light sweet flavor. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah." He rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm. "Ready to head back today?"

She nodded but her brow furrowed. "I thought we were waiting for your father to arrive."

"He's here," Dean replied. "I promised not to wake him up until the coffee is ready."

Relief with a thick syrupy taste flowed over them. "That's why you left."

Dean grinned at her. "There's not much that would pry me out of bed with you."

She frowned but her eyes twinkled and her emotions still tasted good so he suspected Libby would be teasing him. "But your father can? I don't know if I like that." Her nose wrinkled. "Miss Munroe doesn't have the same pull, does she? Since she's your _wife_?"

"Oh, cute!" He slipped his hand along her side to her waist and dug in causing her to squirm. "This is what I get for telling the truth, huh?" Both hands tickled her mercilessly, her whole body jerking and squirming on the bed. "I could've told you it was a special teacher's dinner."

Libby laughed as she thrashed around, half-heartedly fighting him off. This was much better than the heavy and bitter tasting fear, dread and apprehension he had been dealing with since exorcising the demon two nights ago. Dean allowed himself to enjoy this brief break and savored the flavors of Libby's good emotions, knowing what he would be facing soon.

When he stopped they were face to face, close enough for their noses to touch. Both of her arms encircled his neck, not tugging or pulling, simply waiting.

"Dad's looking forward to talking to you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled and he felt a rush of warmth in his skin starting with where her hand touched his neck and spreading out all over. "Have you been talking about me?"

"Yeah. He heard about us from Bobby." Dean settled his weight over her, pinning Libby down to the bed. "He's jealous."

"Good." Now her arms tugged at him, wanting him even closer. "Serves him right for taking you away from me last night."

Dean kissed her gently, enjoying this closeness. The only people he had felt even remotely this comfortable with were his family. And Logan. He chuckled to himself as he thought of Logan's reaction to learning Dean had him in the same group as Libby. Now that wouldn't be pretty.

Her good emotions wavered for a moment. "What are you laughing at?"

"Not you," he assured her, nuzzling at her jaw. "Are you sure you don't want to come along for New Year's?" He left small kisses along the side of her neck. "I'd love to show you off."

"mmmmm," Libby sighed. "We, uh, talked about...mmmmm...this."

He grinned briefly between kisses as she relaxed again. "Come on," he urged, kissing up the other side of her neck. "Pl-"

"Stop," she interrupted harshly, acidic irritation flooding between them. "You know I can't say No when you say Please. So just don't." Her pretty eyes opened and focused on him. "You need a real family weekend. I'd just be a distraction."

Dean grinned in an attempt to lighten the mood again. "I like distractions."

She shook her head but the irritation faded. "New Year's will be good for you. You need to go and be with your family." One hand reached up to caress the side of his face. "I'll be waiting when you come back."

There they were, those tasty emotions of Libby. "Promise?" he asked, feeling a little vulnerable at the moment. Every emotion she experienced was laid bare in front of him, Dean could tell in an an instant if she was confident, insecure, pleased, just telling him what she thought he wanted to hear, or lying. Hank might think this was a good situation but before Dean could only guess if women were trying to play him, now he also experienced how they really felt about him. There was no way he could fool himself into believing she liked him more than she did.

"Promise," she breathed out, her eyes locked with his as those now familiar warm emotions bathed the room. Then again, sometimes there was no need to try fooling himself.

Dean was just thinking that now would be a great time to really celebrate their anniversary when a heavy knock sounded on their door.

"Hey, Dean! Mom says the eggs are almost ready!" Adam shouted from the hall.

Dean chuckled, dropping his head in defeat. He turned to face the door to shout, "We'll be there in a minute! Wake Dad up if there's coffee!"

"Dad! Dad's here?" Adam's excitement blasted in from the hall, barely fading with his pounding footsteps towards the den.

"I almost feel sorry for Dad," Dean mumbled, rolling off Libby. "Almost."

She lifted up on to her elbow with her warm smile and beaming with good emotions. They might even be enough to fight off the fearfulness from Kate. "I don't. He took you away last night."

"You're really good with all this?" Dean asked, voicing his fear for the first time. "Really?"

"As long as you're here," Libby replied with a straight face and no ripple in her emotions, no indication of lying or covering up.

"Dean!" Adam bellowed from the hall.

"And that is what little brothers are for," he groaned as he rolled out of bed. Dean changed into his jeans and shirt while he talked. "I'll go on out while you get ready. Like I said, Dad is looking forward to talking to you. I guess he wants to get to know you better."

"Should I?" she asked, tart insecurities interrupting her usual smooth emotions. "Are you planning on sticking around for a while?"

Dean gave her his best reassuring smile. As much as he hated to admit it, these occasional insecurities of hers never failed in making him feel wanted. "Bet on it."

The tartness of her insecurities faded some and she smiled. "In that case, are there any topics I should avoid?"

Dean shrugged and shook his head as he tucked in his shirt. "Nah. Believe it or not, you'd have a real hard time insulting Dad."

* * *

Logan dialed Dean's cell phone number. He waited as it rang. "Yeah?" Dean sounded good, not like he had faced down a demon recently.

"Hey, Kid," Logan greeted. "I been keepin' an ear out and I asked around at breakfast. No nightmares."

"Good," Dean replied. "I wish we had some kind of school emergency to bring back all the kids who went home over the holidays. There's no telling what's been going on with them."

"Still worried about the brat, huh?" Logan asked, referring to Bobby Drake. That kid had been quick turnin' into one of Dean's favorite students.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was having nightmares before he left even though he wouldn't admit it. If he was already having them at the school they'd have to be really bad now," Dean replied. "Maybe I'll give Professor X a call and see if he'd tell the Drakes that Bobby missed a real important test and won't pass this year unless he takes it before the next semester starts. Do you think that would work?"

It felt kind of nice to be asked about sneaky stuff. Most people only asked his opinion when it came to destroyin' things. "It might," Logan replied. "How about I talk to th' Professor? You're s'posed to be leavin', you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled. "We'll hit the road in about an hour. Libby and Dad are discussing the merits of worn charms versus painted protection symbols. I might need a crowbar to pry her away from the table to leave. At least Dad isn't talking about how I had chubby legs when I was freaking two."

Logan snorted into the phone. He couldn't help it, honest. "Aw, I bet you was cute. Waddlin' too, right?"

"Shut up," Dean snapped and Logan chuckled again.

"Oh, that reminds me," Logan decided to go ahead and own up, "I kinda invited Summers to join us next time we're watchin' your crappy movies in the rec room. He likes 'em."

"You invited Summers?" Dean asked. He sounded surprised. "You?"

"Yeah," Logan growled defensively. "Why?"

"Nothing," Dean replied, kind of quick-like. "It's just...no, you know, that's probably a good idea. I think."

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" Logan demanded. "Maybe you been around that librarian woman too much. You ain't makin' sense."

Dean's chuckle sounded normal. That was good. "Dude, we'll be there in about twenty-four hours. So not tomorrow night because we'll be on the road, and give me a night to recover, then set up a guy night any time after that. Invite Hank too if you want."

"Hank, huh?" Logan shrugged to himself. "Yeah, okay. We c'n have the whole poker gang."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean replied. "All right, let me go check up on Dad and Libby. Later."

"Yeah, all right." Logan hung up the phone. "Guy night. Chicks do it, why not us?" He grinned and took out a cigar to chew on. "What took Dean so long to come work here?"

* * *

John found himself really enjoying talking with Libby. She could converse on nearly any topic, switching between threads of conversation with grace and ease. Which was a good thing considering she was not exactly the most physically graceful person John had ever met. She had tripped over the doorsill walking into the breakfast room, nearly knocked over her morning cup of coffee, and banged her knee on the table sitting down. Dean had caught her from falling in the doorway with a smooth hand steadying her by the elbow, totally disregarded the nearly spilt coffee, and given the hurt knee a few rubs. Plus he had this gooey expression on his face every time he looked at her.

Damn. Dean in love. Who the hell would've thought it? Obviously his son _could _fall in love, he was human after all. But after all the women in his life, who would have thought Dean would ever settle for one woman? John had the sinking suspicion that Sam would not like this very much. He was not positive why he felt this way, however he was certain that he would need a nice long talk with Sam before his younger son saw Dean again.

Dean was working on his third helping of eggs when John knocked on the table beside his son's plate. These days just talking was not enough to pull Dean's attention from food.

"Huh?" Dean looked up, his slightly parted lips revealing that his mouth was indeed full.

"I've been thinking about New Year's," John began.

Dean chewed noisily and shot him a dirty look.

"I want to pick up Sam from the airport," he announced.

The whole room went kind of quiet then. The dirty look was replaced with either shock or horror, John couldn't tell which. Dean swallowed hard, his eyes on John the whole time.

"What?" Dean asked in a steady voice.

"I want to pick up Sam from the airport," he repeated. "Alone. We have a lot to discuss."

Dean glanced at Libby as if she held all the answers, which certainly seemed true most of the time. Her eyes went wide and she leaned back in her chair with a slight shake of her head. Not involved. Thank God.

"Such as?" Dean demanded, his voice taking on the hard edge which always meant John needed to give in or...well...give in. He did not care much for thinking what the 'or' would entail.

John rolled his coffee mug between his palms, the heat of the coffee soaking through the ceramic into his skin. "Our last fight," he muttered to the mug.

"Just the last one?" Dean asked, the hard edge taking on razor sharpness.

John shook his head, his personal turmoil of emotions threatening to overflow from lock-down. He and Dean were so close to having the right kind of father-son relationship, now John wanted the same thing with both Sam and Adam. Adam was so willing and enthusiastic John had no fears about being able to make it work, but Sam was another matter. There was an awful lot of history there that they might not be able to work around.

"Dad?" John shoved those pesky emotions down again, forcing them to hide away until after Dean left. Then he could allow them out to examine, or ignore, as he saw fit.

"Dad?" When he looked up this time John found both Dean and Adam staring at him. It was Adam's voice calling him.

"Speaking of talks," Dean said, pushing away from the table. "Uh, Libby and I need to pack. We'll be hitting the road soon." He motioned between John and Adam. "You two need to talk."

Dean waited for his girlfriend before leaving the room, his hand automatically going out to grasp hers while small smiles erupted on both their faces. It was sweet, in a nauseating kind of way. He was starting to understand Logan's dislike of the name Libby. It wasn't about Libby, it was more about Dean and Libby. They were rather disgustingly sweet together.

Gag.

"I'll be in the den," Kate said softly.

John sighed, giving his full attention to Adam. "What?"

Adam fidgeted in his chair, about as comfortable as a boy sitting on a live ant mound. "Dad, why do you and Sam argue so much?"

Oh. _That _talk. He would have preferred discussing girls and sex.

John rubbed both hands over his face then through his tousled hair, which he had not bothered to brush yet. "You're a lot like your mother. You know that?" he asked.

Adam gave him a strange look, clearly not understanding where this would be heading. He shrugged. "How?"

"The way you think and act," John replied. "You're just a lot like her. Dean is like his mother, too. Sometimes I can see her in him, when he rolls his eyes a certain way or when he laughs for real."

Adam nodded, his expression open and curious.

John leaned with his forearms on the table. "I guess what I'm trying to say is there is a lot more of his mom than me in him, just like there is in you. Sam?" He shook his head sadly. "Poor Sam is too much like me. We're both bull-headed. Sometimes I think we argue just to argue, not because we really disagree." He pointed a finger in the direction Dean left. "Dean only disagrees with me when he honestly thinks I'm wrong, that's why I take him seriously when he does. Remember that."

Not totally honest, but hopefully this would head off a whole load of that teen-rebellion crap with Adam.

"You think you and Sam don't get along because you're too much alike?" Adam asked slowly with a slight frown. "Don't you like yourself?"

"Not really," John replied before his mouth had a chance to check in with his brain. "How's school?" he asked, trying to head off any more conversation until after he'd had at least a few more hours of sleep. "Everything going all right?"

Adam nodded slowly. "School is fine, but I'd rather talk about what you really do for a living."

John downed the rest of his coffee. "Dean told you?"

Adam gave him an incredulous look. "God, Dad, it was kind of obvious. I mean," his voice dropped to a hushed whisper, "there was a demon in Mom!"

Good point, but Dean still could have covered it up if he'd wanted to. No point in crying over spilled milk now. "So what do you want to know?"

Adam pulled a folded page from his jeans pocket. He had a freaking list. There'd better be more coffee.

* * *

Kate stood outside the guest room door, her fist raised to knock, when she heard soft voices from inside. Her curiosity taking over, she leaned in closer to listen.

"I don't want to stop on the way home," Libby said in hushed undertones. "I want to drive straight through."

"Now Baby," Dean replied in a similar soft voice, "you're still recovering from the flu. You need your sleep."

"I'll sleep in the car," she argued. "A hotel wouldn't be safe."

Kate's heartrate sped up, a fresh surge of adrenaline accompanying her fear. Now that was an excellent point. The door stood slightly open, she could peer through the crack inside. Dean stood facing Libby, a thoughtful expression on his face. Kate had noticed that Dean looked at Libby like no other woman in the world could measure up. No man had ever looked at her that way. If they ever broke up, Kate planned on tracking Libby down and giving her a thorough chewing-out.

"I'll help drive," Libby insisted. "I feel fine."

"Promise you'll sleep in the car?" Dean asked, clearly not happy about this. Libby nodded eagerly. "No arguing about not being too tired?"

"Promise," Libby said, a bright smile spreading across her face. "And this way we'll make it home faster too."

With a deep chuckle and a gentle smile, one Kate had not seen before, Dean pulled Libby into an embrace. The sight made her want to sigh in appreciation. Only people in Hallmark movies hugged like that, so sweet and sincere.

Kate took a step back to knock loudly on the door. "Dean? Libby? May I come in?"

"Come on in, Kate," Dean called out. She pushed the door open. They stood by the bed, their bags full and closed, ready to leave.

"I wanted to thank both of you for coming," she began. Kate needed to stop and take a deep breath to continue. "Dean? I overheard your father tell Adam about other demon experts you know?"

"I can ask them to stop by," Dean replied agreeably. "Honestly I'm a little surprised Dad hasn't already. After all, Adam is..." his voice trailed off and he frowned.

"Adam is what?" Kate demanded, alarmed.

"Well," Dean replied slowly, "I was going to say Dad's favorite, but I'm not sure that's true."

Confusion raged through Kate's mind so strongly she couldn't think for a moment. "Why in the world would you think Adam is your father's favorite?" She stared at Dean as if she had never really seen him before.

Dean shrugged in an off-hand manner, like this wasn't the most important thing in the whole world to him. "He's taken Adam camping and to ball games. You know, normal stuff. Dad's never done that with me or Sam."

"Oh." There was a flurry of activity in her mind before the right words filtered down to her mouth. "I wouldn't have thought of it that way." Kate stared at the young man thoughtfully. "Would your father think of it that way?"

Dean drew back as if he she had slapped him.

"I-I mean," Kate stammered, not desiring to alienate the man who recently saved her from demonic possession and who was quite possibly her son's closest relative aside from her, "if Adam were his favorite John would never have agreed to my stupid plan of not telling him what you do. The things you hunt." She peered up, desperate for him to understand her meaning. "So Adam can't be his favorite."

What if Dean believed Adam was his father's favorite? What could that mean? Adam had become unbelievably attached in the past few months. If Dean stopped calling... Oh, no. No, no, no, she could not allow that to happen. Dean had no idea what that could do to Adam. He was such a sensitive, fragile boy-

"Kate?" Fingers snapped in front of her eyes. "Kate!"

"What?" When had Dean moved so close to her? And why did he have that concerned look on his face?

"Easy, Kate." His voice was smooth and calm. "It's all right. Sit down."

A sense of calm wrapped itself around her as Kate lowered herself to sit on the corner of the guest bed. Dean squatted in the floor in front of her. "We won't leave you here alone until you feel better. I wouldn't go except I know this demon is targeting my students and some of them left to visit their families. They're vulnerable too."

"You need to check on them," Kate filled in the blanks. It made perfect sense. "That's why you made your father come, so you could leave."

"Yeah." Dean's smile was warm and comforting. Her jittering nerves felt better for the first time since this mess started with the arrival of the black smoke. "And I can call Bobby and Jim to come and help check things out, make sure you two are safe. Jim is a pastor and he's a great listener. I hear Dad's been bending his ear a lot lately." Dean winked at her. "We're supposed to see my other little brother in about a week and Jim is bound and determined those two don't start their usual fights."

Kate nodded as she reached out a trembling hand to rest on his rock-solid arm. "If my son turns out half as well as you have, I'll be very happy," she whispered.

He gave her another one of those shocked looks before the warm smile returned. "Adam is a great kid. I don't think you have much to worry about there."

"You, uh, you'll call?" she asked, hearing the tremble in her voice. "To let us know how those other kids are?"

"Sure, Kate," Dean promised. "And don't forget, we'll be back in a few weeks for that seminar."

An excellent point, Kate thought. "I wish your father had told you earlier. About Adam." She forced herself to look into his eyes, to see the wounded soul there John had mentioned once. The gentle smile and handsome face were almost enough to disguise it, but occasionally she caught glimpses of the fragile boy inside. "I can't believe we've missed spending the last year with you in our lives. You won't leave us now?"

"Three weeks, Kate," Dean assured her, patting her shoulder. "You do all the things we've discussed and you and Adam will be fine."

Kate sighed and nodded. She felt more secure right up to the point that big black car of Dean's drove out of sight. Damn. All they had now was John and maybe a couple of demon hunters. She knew Adam would feel better with Dean here. So would she.

* * *

"Bobby, you're going back to school today," his father announced at breakfast.

Bobby felt like falling over in relief. "R-really?" He gulped, not wanting to appear too anxious. "Okay. Why?"

Dad glared at Mom before adding hot sauce to his eggs. "Mom?"

She cleared her throat. "Professor Xavier called this morning. Apparently he didn't want to ruin your holiday by calling earlier."

"About what?" Bobby asked. It really wasn't like his parents to hide school stuff from him.

"You're flunking math," Dad replied with a nasty glare. "Do you have any idea how important math is?"

Bobby rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to answer when Dad cut him off again.

"Don't cut your eyes like that, young man. This is serious. Xavier himself called to discuss the situation with us. You have a test you have to pass to continue in your grade or you'll be held back. He didn't mention expulsion but I think it's safe to assume that would be the next step."

"Bobby, why didn't you tell us?" his mother demanded. "I should have known there something wrong by those circles under your eyes." She sighed dramatically. "You should have told us, Bobby. We could have, I don't know, hired a tutor?"

"Over Christmas?" his father scoffed. "Not likely. No, more likely we wouldn't have let you come home at all."

"Good to know," Bobby muttered.

"William!" Mom snapped. "You tell your son that you did not mean that!" Her open palm slammed down on the breakfast table.

Bobby glanced from her pink flushed face to his father's deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"Sorry," Dad said, his eyes locked on Mom. "I didn't mean it."

His parents stared at each other like he wasn't even in the room, which sounded like a great idea. Bobby slipped silently out of his chair, not pushing it back for fear the noise would break their trance-like state. He padded quietly out. Once in the hall, Bobby bolted for his room to pack. He was heading back to the Institute and his shielded, protected room. This was the best news he'd heard since coming 'home'.

Bobby thrust all of his clean clothes into his suitcase. The few dirty clothes he had followed. House services could wash them when he made it back. There were a lot of perks to living at the Institute aside from the obvious of living in a place where he wasn't a freak.

His bag was packed, including his toothbrush and the rest of his bathroom stuff, when he heard footsteps outside his bedroom door. Bobby zipped up his jacket, ready to go. He turned to face the door and waited.

There was a single knock which meant it was Mom. Dad rarely came up here much less knocked.

"I'm ready," Bobby called out. "Any time-"

The door swung open to reveal his father standing in the hall.

"Uh, any time you are," he finished gamely, wondering what in the world his father was doing up here.

"I, ah..." Dad cleared his throat, his features hardening making Bobby expect to be chewed out. "You should have told us about flunking math."

"Yes, sir," Bobby agreed instantly. The last thing he wanted was to have a huge fight right before he left.

"Your mother and I..." Dad looked uncomfortable, like his own skin didn't fit quite right.

Bobby's gaze darted to the doorway where his solid line of salt lay unbroken. Dad was still on the other side. Was Dad not coming in because he didn't want to, or because he couldn't? Bobby slid his hand into his jacket pocket where the small clear vial of Holy Water was, close at hand. His fingers wrapped tight around the plastic tube, clutching like his life might depend on it.

"Well, we, uh, are glad that you came," Dad mumbled, looking for all the world like he was being forced to say these things.

Bobby's heart leapt into his throat, nearly cutting off his air supply. He swallowed hard against the lump, his gaze trained on his father. Was there demonic black smoke inside Dad? Was his father being controlled?

"I know it's been a while since you spent any time at home and, uh, that can be, you know, difficult," Dad rambled on.

"Christo," Bobby muttered, watching for any sign of a demon.

Dad frowned and blinked a couple of times. "What?"

"Christo?" Bobby tried again. No reaction except for Dad looking at him like he had lost his mind. "Actually I'm ready to go back," he stated as if he had never said anything crazy, the hand clutching the small vial in his pocket relaxing. "I knew my math grades were low and that my teachers were going to be evaluating it over break but I had no idea they might call me back early. Sorry about that. Totally my fault for not warning you."

Dad still had that 'what the heck' expression. "Did you just..." Dad shook his head and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Apology accepted. Your mother and I would like to see you this year for your birthday, but we can come to your school. You don't have to come here unless you want to."

Bobby let out a breath of relief. "Oh, thanks, Dad. Yeah, that would be great! Uh, when is my flight?"

The odd expression came back. "It's funny, but Professor Xavier seemed so concerned about your grades that the school is paying for your return ticket. To make your flight we need to go in about an hour, but if you're ready I suppose we can go ahead and leave. Airport security is always terrible."

"Thanks, Dad," Bobby replied and he meant it. He really, really meant it.


	59. Chapter 59: Belated Anniversary

Yes, the long awaited 'anniversary' chapter is finally here! I certainly hope it meets with approval. For the next chapter I have not been able to decide whether we should go along on Guy Night or skip over to New Year's.

Chapter 59: **Belated Anniversary**

Twenty hours on the road followed by twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and it was finally time. Dean tried to control his excitement as he approached Libby's door. Five and a half weeks. That was how long they had been going out and she seemed to like him more the longer they dated. He rapped lightly on her door, casting glances down the hall both ways. She had called and said 'everything' was ready. He could hardly wait to see what 'everything' was.

The door pulled open wide, Libby standing there in a floral print dress, light blue with large pink flowers, and a huge smile. Her hair was down and loose, which was a nice surprise even though Dean had been looking forward to stealing hairpins. She glanced out her door while she waved him inside. Before he could say hello, both her arms wrapped around his neck and Libby was kissing him. He pressed her body tight against his as he kissed her back. They broke apart, slightly breathless.

"All well?" he asked in a teasing voice since it was pretty obvious she was.

The blinding smile returned. "Absolutely. Thanks to you. And to thank you..." One arm swept out towards her small kitchenette. "I am cooking dinner."

"Really?" He stood on tiptoe, trying for a better view. "What are you cooking?"

"It may sound cliché, but it's spaghetti. I make my own sauce," she announced proudly.

"Why is that cliché?" Dean asked, pulling a stool up to her counter so he could watch.

Libby shot him a confused look as she returned to her stovetop. "You know, _Lady and The Tramp_?"

"You watch porn?" he asked, astounded.

Libby's nose scrunched up and she gave him a dirty look. "It's a Disney movie. Animated."

"Oh. Really?" He smiled mischievously at her. "Are you going to make me watch it?"

Libby laughed, a light and happy sound. The small apartment was full of warm emotions and good feelings as well as an aroma that made his mouth water. "I don't know," she said lightly, "that didn't work out too well last time."

"Are you kidding?" Dean demanded. "It worked out great."

Libby shook her head and laughed again. "Sure, for making out. I'll bet you don't even remember what it was about."

"Talking toys," Dean said dismissively with a wave of his hand. "If I ever found a toy that talked, I'd salt and burn the damn thing."

She paused in stirring her sauce, her eyes unfocused and head tilted to one side. When her attention returned to the here and now, Libby nodded. "Okay, I can see that. No more talking toys. But _Lady and The Tramp_ is a classic. I can't believe you've never seen it."

Dean grinned. "Sheltered childhood?"

"And you watch all of those monster movies?" Libby asked. She tasted her sauce, the red covered wood spoon delicately touching her mouth. Dean ran his tongue over his lips, feeling stupidly jealous of a frigging spoon.

"That's, uh, different," he tried, unable to concentrate on the conversation while she licked the sauce off of her lips.

"How?" Libby added a pinch of one thing and a dash of another to her sauce and stirred it in.

"Those are fun," Dean told her, relieved his big brain was back in control. "Monsters falling in love with people? Or trying to destroy the entire human race? It doesn't get any better than that."

She took her spoon out to taste the sauce again while Dean watched every move. Damn. Much sexier than porn. Bye-bye Big Brain. She passed him a beer, taking a second cold one for herself.

"This is your first one?" he demanded, glaring at her.

She shot him a dirty look. "And if it isn't?"

"Then I'll help you with it," he replied, reaching over the counter for the bottle. "Since you've been sick."

"It's ready," Libby announced, holding her beer out of his reach. "Now go sit on the sofa. I'm going to serve your dinner too."

"Gimme your beer, baby. I'll carry it for you." With a bright smile and a blast of pure joy, Libby handed over her beer. He knew the emotional burst was for calling her 'baby', not for offering to take her beer. Using his body as a shield, Dean took a big swig of her beer. Libby could be a little cranky when she drank too much, especially on an empty stomach.

The narrow coffee table between the sofa and the television was covered with a red and white checked tablecloth and had lit candles standing in the center. Dean sat down and put their beers on the table. Libby came to join him a minute later holding two large bowls. His was piled high with noodles and the amazing smelling meat sauce. Libby's had a generous but much smaller portion. She set both bowls on the table. Then she picked up the video remote and pressed a button.

As the introductory scenes played out on her small television, Dean shot Libby an incredulous look. "Dogs? Lady and The Tramp are dogs?"

"Most romantic movie ever made," she stated with an air of authority.

Dean let out a couple of chuckles between mouthfuls of the best damn spaghetti he ever tasted. "This is good," he mumbled with a full mouth. "Really good."

The kiss to his cheek was unexpected and sent a warm flush through his skin. "You're so sweet!"

There was a time being called 'sweet' would've ticked him off, but not lately. Not when Libby said it.

Dean polished off his bowl and then the rest of the spaghetti before the cartoon was over. He watched the ending with his arm around her and Libby's head resting against his shoulder. When Tramp stopped the dogcatcher by throwing himself in front of the wagon, Dean wasn't surprised. He was surprised the dog lived, but that was probably just because it was a cartoon.

Libby leaned forward to pick up the remote and stop the movie. As it rewound, she turned to look him in the eye. "Well? What'd you think?"

"I think Tramp had great taste," he replied honestly. "And he was smart to keep an eye on her. Not everybody is lucky enough to meet a real lady."

She slid back into his arms. "You are such a smooth talker." Libby giggled, feeling nervous and excited.

"There is something I ought to tell you," Dean said slowly, knowing this was the wrong time yet feeling like if he didn't do it now he never would.

"What?" Libby relaxed against him. "It can't be that bad," she chided. "You have a terrible look on your face."

Dean sighed. "Remember when I told you that I used to move around constantly?" He waited for her to nod. "Well, I've never been in any one place long enough to get to know...anybody...like this."

Libby nodded again, her pretty eyes trained on him.

"But I have, well..." Man, this was awkward. Dean used his free hand to scratch the back of his neck.

"Slept around?" Libby prompted. "Yeah, that's obvious. What else?"

Dean frowned at her. "What do you mean, that's obvious?"

"Oh, sweetie, don't get defensive," Libby fussed at him, patting his chest with one hand. "You flirt with every woman you see."

"No, I don't," he argued.

Libby giggled. "Yes, you do." He opened his mouth to protest again but she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder as she continued looking up at him. "I don't mind, Dean."

"Well...I...What?" He stared at her. "Why not? I mean, if I did. Which I don't." He would've kept protesting, but one of her hands reached up to cover his mouth.

She pressed against his chest. "Everywhere we go, the women watch you." Libby smiled. Her hand slid slowly down his neck to rest in the center of his chest. "But you always leave with me. And you only dance with me." One leg swung over his. "Women stop me in the lavatory to ask what kind of perfume I'm wearing."

Puzzled, Dean stared at her. "But you don't wear perfume."

Her smile widened. "I know. It drives them crazy, trying to figure out what you're doing with me."

He reached up to stroke his thumb over her cheek. "I can't figure out what you're doing with the likes of me."

Her eyebrows danced a quick jig. "I have some ideas." A surge of excitement swept through her.

"Yeah?" Dean smiled. "Like?"

Her leg tightened over his. "Oh, nothing fancy." Libby's smile was bright. "But it's a good thing you ate. You're going to need your energy."

"So you had alterior motives, huh?" Dean teased, liking the sound of this.

"Ulterior," Libby corrected. "And you'd better believe it." She stood and tugged on him to stand with her. Libby took him by the hand to lead through the main room, towards her bedroom. "Just ignore the wallpaper."

"I'll try," Dean replied, following closely, "but it won't be easy." He laughed at the nasty look she gave him for that one.

* * *

She had long dark tresses that draped over her shoulders, a thick strand hanging down over her bare breast. Her pale blue eyes rested on his face as her soft hand caressed his cheek.

"Kayla," Logan whispered, reaching up for her. His hand passed through her ephemeral form as his room at the Institute became solid around him.

Logan jumped out of bed, convinced he had seen a ghost. His heart hammered inside his chest as a cold sweat broke out over his body. Though he could not quite remember the beautiful woman from his dream, he knew she was long dead. His sensitive hearing picked up an agonized moan from one of the other rooms. He raced into the hall clad only in boxers and an undershirt. Logan stalked silently down the hall, listening at different doors and hearing other variations of the moan. When he reached the door of that librarian woman, he could make out heavy breathing and various thumps.

With a sigh of resignation, Logan pressed his palm to his forehead. "Damn kid," he grumbled, turning away. "Leakin' all over tha place."

He went back to his room with the intention of dressing and putting in some quality time with the punching bag. He paused as he picked up his shirt, eying his bed. Then again, it had been a hell of a good dream. With a shrug, Logan tossed his shirt over his shoulder and climbed back into bed. Why not? After all, it was only a dream.

* * *

Dean woke in a dark room sprawled across the bed. For a moment he forgot where he was, then his hand brushed against a solid object. When he rested his hand against the large object he could feel heat and smooth skin. Libby. Dean tugged at her until her back was pressed against his chest and her hair was in his face. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and felt an odd sensation on his skin. Dean peered at his shoulder but there was nothing there. He did it again, again feeling a ghost sensation on his flesh.

Intrigued, Dean slid his hand along her side and felt the brush of a hand along his side. He could feel what she felt? Well, that would go a long way to explaining a few things that happened earlier, he had to admit. With a sleepy smile Dean hugged her gently, feeling the hug against his back as well. He allowed his eyes to drift shut, too tired to hold them open any longer.

* * *

A growling sound woke him. Faint light broke through the bedroom window, claiming it was still too early to be up. Then he heard the growl again and his stomach twisted painfully. Damn.

Reluctantly Dean crawled slowly out of bed being careful not to wake Libby. He walked quietly to her tiny kitchen area feeling light-headed and a bit groggy. When he stood in front of her refrigerator, Dean could not remember why he came out here. He turned around to head back to bed when his stomach twisted again. Oh, right. Food.

First thing he saw when he opened the door was a full gallon of orange juice. Dean whipped off the top and drank straight from the plastic container. He chugged the refreshing juice down in record time, not stopping until it was empty. He stumbled back a step, head spinning, needing to lean against the counter a moment to recover. When the world settled down again, Dean returned to the fridge. There was a bowl of the leftover spaghetti sauce. Too bad he ate all the noodles already.

"Dean? Sweetie?"

He turned his head, one hand on the bowl of sauce, to see Libby standing behind him wearing a fuzzy blue bathrobe. "Yeah?" His brain still felt fuzzy, kind of like her robe.

"Uh, thirsty?" She walked over to pick up the empty container. Then a frown appeared on her pretty face. "Are you all right?"

"Didn't have dessert," he mumbled, his tongue growing thick and heavy in his mouth. "Is there dessert?" His hand slipped off the counter and he very nearly followed it to the floor, except Libby and her fuzzy blue robe appeared beside him, holding him up. "S'posed to have cheesecake."

"Dean, I want you to sit down."

Dean shook his head. "Need dessert," he insisted, trying to reach for the fridge again.

"I'll get it," Libby insisted. "Come on. You need to sit down."

"No!" Dean stamped his foot, feeling like a bratty little kid and unable to stop himself. "I want dessert!" When he stamped his foot again, the room spun in a lazy circle around him and he stumbled into the counter, the sharp edge pressing into his bare backside.

"Sweetie? Dean?" A warm soft hand caressed the side of his face. With a contented sigh, Dean leaned into the touch and the soft, warm emotions she offered. "I need you to do something. Just for me. Will you? For me?"

The words filtered through the soft fuzziness surrounding his brain. Dean nodded. Libby was safe. Anything Libby wanted was a good thing. Plus he liked how warm her feelings for him were and they had a light sweet taste, the way good emotions were supposed to.

"Then come sit down. Right over here on the stool." He went where she wanted. Her warm hands didn't leave him until after he was sitting down. "Dessert, right?"

Dean nodded again. His tongue felt weird in his mouth, like when the dentist had to numb your gums and wound up putting half your face to sleep.

"Here we go!" Libby's cheerful voice accompanied a whole gallon of ice cream set in front of him. A cold spoon, a big one, was pressed into his hand. "Go on, it's all for you."

Oh, Libby was the best damn person on the face of the planet. Dean decided then and there he did not deserve her and there was no way in hell he would let her go. A guy only stumbled on to a gem like her maybe once in his life. As he shoveled in the ice cream, the fuzziness in his brain faded and his tongue grew cold but no longer numb.

Libby sat next to him on a second stool, one hand rubbing his shoulder. Sweet tasting waves of wonder and concern flowed from her. She really was too good for him. Before he finished the whole gallon, Dean turned to face her. With one hand pressed into the hair flowing over her neck, he pulled her toward him for a 'thank you' kiss. He could tell she liked the cold sensation of his ice cream mouth pressing on hers. When they separated Dean could only stare at her, not quite believing they were here, together.

Libby broke the silence. "Are you going to finish that?"

He glanced at the remnants of the gallon waiting for him on the counter. "I had an idea about that," he said slowly, "but you'd have to wash your sheets right away."

He wouldn't have bet on it but Libby's face lit up, her eyes sparkled, and excited anticipation flooded the room at his proposition. "I have towels."

* * *

This time Dean woke to gentle strokes through his hair and the smell of food.

"Wake up, sleepy head," Libby's sweet voice crooned. "Or I'm eating this by myself."

Dean pried open his weary eyes to the sight of Libby in her fuzzy robe sitting beside him on the bed, one hand on the side of his head and the other holding a plate loaded with pancakes. His stomach gave a low growl at the sight.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and she handed over the plate. Libby crawled into bed beside him, ducking under his arm to rest her head on his abdomen as he ate. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable position, but he wouldn't tell her that.

"Not hungry?" he asked through a half full mouth.

"I'm good," she replied with a shake of her head.

Once again he had the impression she was waiting patiently, that there was more behind the generous breakfast offering. He kept eating until his plate was clean.

"Done," Dean announced, setting the plate on her nightstand. Libby snuggled closer and one warm hand slid down his left arm to the silver bracelet. He had a fuzzy recollection that he had been up by himself before finding the ice cream last night. One of her short trimmed nails, no polish, tapped against the silver, silently asking why it was there.

"I'm a little more than an empath," Dean told her. Her hand left his bracelet so her arm could wind around his waist and her head rest more comfortably against him. "I can change the way people see things."

"Like a mirage?" Libby asked.

"Not that obvious," Dean replied. "More along the lines of how they feel about the person standing next to them, or how they should react to an event. Xavier calls it influencing perception." He hoped the big words would help it make more sense to her.

"Do you do it all the time?" Her head turned to look up at him and Dean noticed a sharp trill of fear run through her.

"No. It started as a defense mechanism, I didn't even know I was doing it. You've seen me roll or shake out my shoulders, right?" he asked.

Libby appeared thoughtful for a moment before shrugging. "Is that what happened with Kate? Why she suddenly became more relaxed when you were talking with her?" Dean nodded. "Have you ever done it to me?"

Dean tried to remember if he had done it while they had been on a date. He was sure he would have had to at some point, but only one thing came to mind. "Remember the first time we went to the blues club? When you were so nervous about dancing?"

Libby studied his face as she replied, "I didn't like the idea of all those people watching me. But you made me close my eyes, and then..." Her eyes widened and her face registered surprise as she figured it out. "That was you?"

He nodded and relief and warm feelings engulfed him. Libby wriggled closer until she was plastered against his side. "You are so sweet. Now what about the shoulder thing?"

"That's how I release the energy to change people's perception," he explained.

"And the eating all the time?" she asked.

"I burn a lot of energy," Dean replied. "I use as much as a marathon runner when I sleep. During the day, when I'm up and doing stuff, it's a whole lot more."

"That would explain last night," Libby replied. "I guess I need to be sure to feed you dessert from now on, huh?"

Dean grinned at her, turning so they were face to face. "Or not wear me out," he teased.

"Oh, I don't think that's an option," she said with a wide grin. "But maybe keeping chocolate syrup in here is."

"Oh, Lady," Dean said, leaning in until his lips brushed against hers, "I like you more all the time."

"You'd better."


	60. Chapter 60: New Year's Part 1

Chapter 60: **New Year's – Part 1**

Sam had expected Dean to meet him in baggage claim. He felt kind of anxious to see his brother, ready to visually confirm that Dean really was fine. All those letters about teaching classes and settling in one place really had not done much to ease his mind. It was all too out of character. Next thing, Dean would claim to be dating a girl exclusively. Like that could happen. If Hell had frozen over or the whole world destroyed, Sam was pretty sure he would have noticed.

He shouldered his duffel with another long look around. Not spotting his brother, Sam pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial for Dean's number.

"Sam? What's wrong?" Dean asked abruptly.

"I'm in baggage claim, where are you?" Sam asked, standing on tiptoe to better see over people's heads.

"Dad didn't call you, did he?" Dean sounded annoyed.

"Why?" Sam demanded, alarmed. "You're not canceling, right? I mean, I'm already here."

"No, he's out front in the passenger pick up area waiting for you." Dean sighed deeply. "Dude, best behavior, all right? He really is trying, even if he's being a pain in the ass about it."

"D-Dad?" Sam stammered. He had been counting on at least another hour and some prep time with Dean before having to face Dad. "Dad is picking me up? Dude, tell me you're kidding."

"He wanted some time alone with you," Dean replied and the smug bastard actually sounded pleased by it. "Listen Sam, this is a good thing, all right? Just walk outside and get in the truck. He won't bite. I made him promise."

Sam huffed loudly, using his free hand to adjust the duffel strap on his shoulder. "You know that I came to see you, right? Not Dad."

"Sam, you're as big of a pain in the ass as Dad. Just go." The annoyed tone returned in Dean's voice.

"Dean, I can't believe..." Sam paused before walking through the exterior doors. He could see Dad's black truck from here. "Dean?" No answer. "Dean!" Sam yanked the phone away from his ear to look at it. His brother hung up on him? Abandoned him here with Dad? Alone?

Sam's breathing became rapid, staccato pulses. Pain rippled around his ribcage and invisible iron bands squeezed tight. His head felt light as the world blurred around the edges of his vision. The pain from his knees making contact with the hard tiled floor barely registered as Sam fumbled with the zipper on his duffel. He thrust one hand inside, desperately feeling in the bottom of the bag for his bottle of pills. Gasping for air, his fingers hit cool plastic. Sam grasped the container and jerked it from the depths of his bag, several other items flying out at the same time.

He had to wrestle a moment with the child-proof top, irrationally wondering if there were any children walking by who could help, before it popped off. Mouth open like a fish gasping on shore, Sam poured several pills into his palm. He grabbed one pill and placed it carefully under his tongue. Still holding the bottle and a handful of pills, Sam closed his eyes and tried to imagine an empty serene beach while he waited for the pill to have its magical effect.

Soon the iron bands around his chest loosened, allowing him to draw in a deep breath. A sense of calm descended and wrapped its comfort around him like a thick quilt. Yes, that was much better.

"Uh, Sammy?"

Holy crap. Please, God, please no. No. Anything but that.

Sam cracked one eye open. Through the narrow slit he could see his father's face. Courage mounting as his anxiety ebbed, Sam pried open his other eye. Dad squatted facing him holding in one hand something which looked suspiciously like his underwear. When he tried reaching for it Sam found he held a handful of pills. Great. Could this look any worse?

Sheepishly Sam dumped his little magic pills back into their container and twisted the cap on securely. He dropped it into his bag before grabbing the underwear dangling from Dad's fingers. A couple of t-shirts were strewn on the floor and a pair of rolled up socks rocked next to his knee. With one large sweep, Sam scooped them all up and deposited his clothing into his duffel. He zipped it securely closed.

Summoning his courage, which felt easier than it should have, Sam gave his father a smile. "Hi, Dad."

Dad frowned as he stood. One large meaty hand reached out to Sam and pulled him to his feet. "The truck is outside."

Dad's hand was heavy on his shoulder while they walked to the truck, the ominous weight not lifting until Sam had the passenger door open. He tossed his duffel in the back before sitting in the passenger seat. Dad fired up the engine and pulled out in silence, not even the usual music blaring on the radio, which Sam had always suspected was Dad's way of drowning out him and Dean.

"I saw you fall," Dad broke the silence first, his eyes trained on the road ahead. "I was worried something had happened to you."

Sam shook his head, clearing his throat nervously. "Oh, no, no. I'm fine."

"Fine?" There it was, The Tone. Not even his tiny magic pills could keep Sam's teeth from gritting tight.

"Sammy, you fell. By the time I ran in there you were sitting in the floor taking pills."

Wait a minute. That wasn't The Tone. Sam turned to his father and this time he took a really good look. Dad's brow was furrowed, a deep frown creased his face, his shoulders were drawn in and his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.

"Are you...worried?" he asked uncertainly.

"Of course I'm worried!" Dad's voice filled the truck, loud and angry. "I see my son hit the ground for no good reason, I worry!" One fist with an extended index finger found its way into Sam's face. "I am still your father and I want a god-damned explanation!"

Sam stared at his father, red-faced and looking like his head might explode at any second, for a long moment. Then he laughed. It felt foreign and weird but Sam laughed. Out of all the bizarre and unnatural things he had witnessed in his life and all the fights he had had with Dad, this one took first place for strange. While Sam laughed Dad took a deep breath and returned both hands to the steering wheel. His knuckles remained white. There would probably be an impression of his hands in the plastic later.

"Maybe you need one of my pills," Sam told his father when he could catch his breath, "you're too tense, Dad."

Dad cleared his throat. When he spoke this time his voice was even and calm although according to his body language he was just as stressed as he had been five minutes ago. "Is that what the pills are for? To relieve tension?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, kind of. Dad. I want to ask you a question and I want a straight answer."

Dad nodded slowly. "Same here."

"Really?" Sam shrugged again. Actually that sounded kind of reasonable, another first for Dad. "Okay. How about, you answer my question and I'll answer yours?"

Dad breathed deep and slow a few times before his head nodded. "Fire away."

"On that wendigo hunt, how bad was Dean hurt?" Sam asked, determined to finally get a real answer.

"Bad," Dad sighed. "It broke several ribs and drove one directly into his left lung, which collapsed. He was kind of working for that institute of his when it happened, looking into the disappearance of one of their students, so they sent in a specialist. The specialist performed a, ah..." Dad peeled a hand off the steering wheel to run his fingers through his hair. "It was an experimental procedure. Instead of needing months to recover, Dean was back on his feet starting his teaching job about a week later."

"That's impossible," Sam argued. "You can not recover from a punctured lung in a week."

Dad glanced over, his face hard and unyielding. "My turn."

Oh, right. The deal. "Okay."

"Why do you need pills for tension?" Dad asked. "And were they prescribed by a doctor?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad. I am not doing drugs." He punctuated 'doing drugs' with air quotes. "I've just been having some problems with, uh, stress lately."

"Since when?" Dad pressed.

"Honestly?" Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Since Dean sent me those stupid letters. He is making up the part about teaching, right? What school would want to hire Dean?"

"A school being terrorized by a demon," Dad replied. "Can you think of anyone better to teach those kids about the threat they're facing?" His voice was heavy and gruff.

"Why not you?" Sam asked. "Why Dean? And why is he still there? I thought he couldn't stand to stay in one place too long."

Dad's knuckles were no longer white and his shoulders looked a little more relaxed. "Honestly I think that had more to do with the people he was around than wanting to be on the road. He likes it there. So is this stress caused by your brother being hurt or taking a teaching position?"

"Both," Sam admitted. "I was afraid he had to take a real job because he was hurt too bad to hunt. That would've been my fault, you know. For not being around to watch his back."

This time Dad's sigh sounded kind of sad. Weird. "It wasn't your fault, Sammy. I promise. Believe me, if Logan couldn't protect Dean better than that then you couldn't have either."

"You like him too?" Sam demanded. "Now I know I'm going to hate him." His arms crossed over his chest in a stubborn pose.

Dad chuckled and even though the sound of it was forced and strained it was good to hear. "I never said I liked him. However, he may be handy to have around."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Terrific. There weren't supposed to be all these changes while I was in school. You know that, right?"

"Oh, is that what's really bugging you?" Dad asked. "Then maybe you should've called your brother once in a while." Dad's hand flew off the steering wheel to hold up, palm facing Sam. "Don't. I didn't mean to say that. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Sam stared in disbelief at his father. "Did you actually just apologize?"

Dad scowled for a moment, then his face smoothed out and he nodded. "Yes, I said I was sorry. And I would like to apologize for our last fight. I said..." He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, just like Professor Melton harped on Sam to do. "We both said a lot of stuff that I would prefer to leave in the past." Dad glanced over. "You don't bring it up and I won't either. Deal?"

"Deal." Sam relaxed into the passenger seat. His greatest fear about this trip had just been resolved and he hadn't even seen Dean yet. Not in a million years would Sam have believed that was possible and yet it just happened.

"Dad? Do you promise that Dean is all right?" Sam asked, feeling more like he was ten than twenty.

Again Dad's brow furrowed and he did not answer right away. "Yeah," he replied slowly. "Actually, I think Dean is more than all right. I think this is the best he's been in his life." Dad's broad shoulders, which had always looked so massive and protective when Sam was a kid, shrugged. "But maybe you'd better judge that for yourself."

"I will," Sam promised. He would see for himself if his brother really was all right.

Suddenly the truck skidded on the road, fishtailing wildly while both of Dad's feet pressed the brake pedal to the floor. Sam hung on for dear life as the full sized pickup squealed and skidded to a halt in the emergency lane, leaving black rubber on the asphalt behind them. The road in front of them was clear, not a pothole or stalled car in sight.

"What happened?" Sam shouted breathlessly, gripping the armrest on the door with both hands. "Did we blow a tire?"

Dad's eyes were wide and frightened as his head turned slowly. "Those pills." He swallowed hard several times. "What exactly are they for? Tell me straight, Sam. This is important."

"I did," Sam protested. "Stress."

"Why were you sitting in the floor of the airport taking one?" Dad asked, his voice growing deeper and more demanding with each word.

Sam rolled his eyes and wondered what the hell that had to do with anything. "Daaaad... What about the tire?"

"Tires are fine. Answer the question. Now." Dad's breathing was rapid and his eyes were locked on to Sam like a weapons guidance system. Normally when the man spouted orders like that it drove Sam up the nearest wall. At the moment it was only mildly irritating. Man, those little pills worked great!

"Well, I was kind having...a, uh...you know...panic, uh..." Sam flapped a hand, trying to dismiss it as nothing.

Dad froze in place, not even breathing. Finally there was movement. First his eyes blinked once. Then his mouth moved, initially silently but finding enough volume on the second try to say, "Panic attack?" Dad looked like he might be having one himself.

"I don't like calling it that," Sam admitted. "It's just stress. Sometimes it's a little too much, that's all. The pills are temporary until I can learn to handle it better. A lot of the other students at school..." His voice trailed off as all the color drained from Dad's face. "Dad?" Was the man breathing? Sam waved a hand in front of his father's face. What the hell? "Dad!" Sam grasped his dad by the shoulder and shook hard.

Dad seemed to come to himself then but an expression of horror spread. "Sam, you can't have one of those panic attacks around Dean. You can't." Dad reached out and grabbed him by both shoulders, his large hands squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. "You can't!"

"Then you really need to stop acting like this," Sam replied as he tried to pull out of his father's grip. Even if it turned out that there wasn't anything seriously wrong with Dean, the same obviously did not apply to Dad. A queasy feeling grew in the pit of Sam's stomach.

Dad released Sam slowly while those dark eyes begged for him to understand. "I know he hasn't told you everything."

The words struck with a focused stab, the pain entering his chest and piercing through to his heart. "It is bad, isn't it? I knew it. I knew there was a reason he quit hunting."

Dad's hands pulled away to rub over his weather-beaten face. Sam had not noticed it before but his father seemed older than when he left for college. There was more gray in his hair and beard and his eyes looked tired. Or maybe Sam had been looking at that ancient picture of Mom and Dad too much.

"Dean hasn't quit hunting," Dad replied slowly, his hands dropping out of the way. Once again his penetrating gaze locked on to Sam. "But he isn't allowed to go on solo hunts any more. His boss and I agree on that one."

Sam felt his jaw drop. "You let him hunt alone?" It was more of an accusation than a question. Any residual feeling of panic or insecurity was gone, replaced wholly by anger.

"Not any more," Dad snapped, effectively heading off the rant forming in Sam's mind. "Now this panic stuff. What caused the one at the airport? If it was my fault I want to be damn sure I don't do anything to cause another one at the cabin."

"I called Dean to see where he was and he told me you were picking me up." Sam huffed and ran his hand through his hair. "Then he hung up on me."

"I guess I should have called and warned you," Dad replied slowly. "That one was my fault. But Sam? Anything else I should avoid?"

"Slamming on the brakes and driving off the road like that. I may need to change my shorts," Sam said.

Dad chuckled and the stress and strain dropped from his face making him appear younger. "I'll keep that in mind. It's good to see you, Sammy."

It took a moment for the comment to penetrate, it was so unexpected. "You too, Dad." The shocking part was Sam meant it, he hadn't said it just to be polite.

Next thing Sam knew, he was on the receiving end of one of his father's famous bear-hugs. It made him feel like he was twelve and chubby.

* * *

Dean snacked on an energy bar while he tried to read the paperback of _Hamlet_ Libby had given him for the trip. The problem was he could not concentrate. And Libby's dictionary was not here. And – he didn't care all that much. Dean shoved it into his duffel wishing Jim's cabin had a television. His hand hit something else solid. After feeling around Dean fished out another book. He flipped it over to read the front and discovered a sticky note with Libby's handwriting.

_I thought you could use something in a modern language to read. - Libby_

He chuckled, tucking the note inside the front cover of the book. The book was titled The Secret Garden. After checking on the fire he had going in the fireplace, and throwing some more wood on it, Dean settled into the large easy chair Jim kept by the hearth. He propped his feet up to read.

The sound of a car engine outside had Dean peering at his watch. He spent a whole hour reading without anyone holding a gun to his head or needing him to watch over her. After dropping his book in the chair, Dean rushed to peer out a window. Jim! Man, how long had it been since he'd seen Jim? Almost a year, had to be. The car pulled in next to the Impala. Both doors opened to allow its occupants out – Jim and Bobby. Dean chuckled to himself, excited about seeing the old guys again and ready for this holiday to start.

Dean yanked open the cabin door to rush out and greet his old friends. He had trouble remembering back to a time when they had not known Jim and Bobby. Dean would bet even money that Sam couldn't remember a time at all.

"Hey Dean!" Bobby shouted with a wave, pulling a bag from the backseat.

"Dean!" Jim called. "I trust you found everything in order this time?"

Warm affection, genuine happiness, and pleasant emotions in general blasted into Dean. He had been alone on the road and at the cabin for the past few hours, isolated from other people's emotions. It was the difference between watching a silent black and white movie and one with surround-sound and in full color. The world came alive with the arrival of these two men.

Temporarily giddy from the fresh upbeat feelings, Dean headed over with the intention of helping to carry in the bags. When he stepped within reach of Bobby he found himself giving the man, more of an uncle or second father than a mere friend, a hug. Bobby might have been confused but he was definitely pleased and returned the hug like they greeted each other this way all the time.

When Dean pulled away he sensed wonderment and curiosity from Jim. Still feeling kind of light-headed from how joyful and contented the other men were, Dean turned to embrace Jim too. Jim hugged him back with a cheerful laugh. As he stepped away, Dean snagged the bag from Jim's hand.

"There's beer in the fridge, I have a couple of frozen pizzas ready to go in the oven, and the cards are ready," Dean announced, his face stuck in beaming-smile mode. He couldn't help it and besides, why should he? There was no one else around. He trusted everyone who was coming. Out here, in the middle of the woods, Dean was free to be himself. What an amazing concept.

"Bobby tells me that you remember how to work a telephone, Dean," Jim chided, one hand still on Dean's upper arm. The old man gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

"Sorry, Jim," he apologized. "Life has been a little crazy lately."

"So I hear," Jim replied. "I don't see your father's truck. Can I assume we beat them?"

Dean nodded as he reached out for Bobby's bag. Bobby grunted at him before slinging it over one shoulder.

"Then perhaps we have a little time for you to tell me about this craziness," Jim said. "I have heard a great deal from your father and Bobby, but I would appreciate hearing your perspective as well."

"Don't let him leave out the girlfriend," Bobby said with a chuckle. "But I warn ya, once he starts on Libby he won't shut the hell up." His voice was rough and gruff and backed with gooey feelings.

Dean chuckled back. "Better believe it. She's awesome, Jim. You're going to love her."

"I look forward to meeting her," Jim replied, the wonderment almost visible around him it was so strong. "Now as I recall," his hand squeezed Dean's arm again, "you could not wait to finish school. Wasn't the whole idea behind taking the GED just so you could quit going?"

"Yeah." Dean pushed open the cabin door for the men, warmth from his roaring fire washing over them. "Sounds weird, I know, but I actually like teaching kids."

"How do the children respond to you?" Jim asked, walking into the cabin. "I would imagine they hang on your every word."

Dean shoved the door closed behind them with his foot. "Why would you think that?"

Amusement blended with the wonderment, so he knew it was from Jim. "Well, if I were asked to name one person who understood how a child's mind worked..." One hand swept out towards Dean as delight twinkled in those faded blue eyes.

"Ha-ha." Dean rolled his eyes but honestly he was pleased by the statement. Maybe that was why the kids paid attention to him. He had been wondering.

"It's because he knows how to get their attention," Bobby snapped, dropping his bag to punctuate his statement. He really was irritated too, he wasn't playing the way Jim was.

"Easy, Bobby," Dean chided. "Jim's just kidding. Anyone ready for pizza? I can eat."

Bobby's eyes rolled all the way into the back of his head. "What else is new? Any word from Sam or your daddy?"

Dean deposited Jim's stuff on the only bed in the cabin. The rest of them would be roughing it on the floor. "All I know for sure is Dad met him at the airport. Sam's probably pissed I wasn't there." He shook his head, heading for the small cabin kitchen area to turn on the oven. "Dad was supposed to call Sam and set everything up. I mean, picking him up was Dad's idea, not mine."

"He didn't?" Jim asked. Twin streams of annoyance, almost identical in strength, burst out.

Dean leaned away from the kitchen area to glare at them. "We are not starting that," he warned both men, pointing an accusing finger at each of them. "We're having a good weekend if I have to bash some hard heads together to do it."

Bobby rolled his eyes again and held up both hands in surrender. "I won't say a damn thing about it."

Dean focused on Jim. Jim was still annoyed, but those feelings of wonderment nearly washed it away. "Don't start what, Dean?" he asked. "What are Bobby and I trying to start?"

Dean glanced over at Bobby and at the look on that grizzled face he knew, without a doubt, that Jim knew about mutants. "Dad told you," he guessed, focusing back on Jim. "You're too smart to play dumb, Jim. Leave that to the professionals."

Jim shot Bobby a look. "John's right. He is pushier."

"Moodier too," Bobby added.

"And in the same frigging room!" Dean snapped at them.

"Much moodier," Jim told Bobby as fresh waves of amusement flowed over Dean from both of them.

Dean sighed and ran both hands over his face. Eddies of delight swirled out from Bobby as a deep chuckle reached his ears. Dean walked away to pull the frozen pizzas from the freezer. Whose frigging wonderful idea was this again? Oh, yeah – Dad's. And where the hell was Dad?

* * *

John shoved a fourth box of cheesecake in Sam's arms. This one was strawberry. Surely they had chocolate covered ones? He returned to the open freezer to search through the remaining desserts.

"Uh, Dad?" Sam said uncertainly from behind him. "I kind of think four will be enough for all of us."

All of us? "Damn it," he growled, snagging two more plain and adding it to Sam's stack. "These two are for us, the rest are for Dean."

Sam lifted the hefty stack of dessert up and down a couple of times. "Uh, don't you think this is a little overkill? And since when does Dean eat cheesecake anyway? I thought he liked pie best."

"It's his new favorite," John replied, "and I owe him a few. He loaned me a friend of his for a hunt."

John glanced over just in time to see Sam's eyes roll all the way back. "Don't tell me," he groaned, "Loooogan."

John had to chuckle over that one as he spotted another flavor way in the back. The cold of the freezer was nothing compared with the dropping temperature outside, he reflected as he leaned further in to grasp the box. Chocolate covered cheesecake. Score!

"Ah-ha!" he cackled triumphantly, adding it to the burden in Sam's arms. "Anything for you?"

"How about not hearing the name Logan the rest of the time I'm here?" Sam suggested.

John shrugged. Funny how familiar that sounded. "Fine by me, but I can't speak for your brother."

"Since when?" Sam muttered under his breath.

"Since he started teaching," John replied as if his son had legitimately asked the question. "He's doing really well, Sam. I think if you saw him in the classroom, you'd be proud of him."

"I don't need to see him in the classroom," Sam snapped. "You and Dean are supposed to be hunting, together, and watching each other's backs."

John stopped, right there in the middle of the grocery store aisle, to take a long evaluating look at his son. "Are you...jealous?"

"No!" Sam snapped, pink highlights appearing on his cheeks. "It's just... Things weren't supposed to change. Not like this."

"Life is change, son," John replied calmly, not even bothered by how much like Jim he sounded then. "I'm starting to understand why you're under so much stress. I think you need to accept that you've missed the past couple of years of your brother's life and to let it go. Sure there have been a lot of changes lately, but he's still Dean." He grasped Sam's shoulder, shocked that it trembled under his hand. "He's still your brother. Believe me, that won't ever change."

Sam stared at him for a moment, his eyes open and wounded, then they shuttered closed. "You sound like Professor Melton," he said with a growl.

"I like him already," John replied lightly, taking Sam's burden to hand over to the cashier. "Who is this Melton character?"

"My ther-uh-professor. Um, family law," Sam insisted.

Sam was in therapy too? Oh, good lord, he really had screwed his family all to hell. He should have guessed as much when he discovered during his last trip to Stanford that Sam had regular appointments with this professor. Family law his ass. Family counseling would be more like it.

"Sam," he sighed, handing over cash to pay for the desserts, "you already told me about the stress problems. I would hope you're doing the responsible thing by seeing some kind of therapist."

Sam did not say another word in the store but John could almost swear he could feel his son's anger building with each step toward the door. Maybe he should have been concerned, but instead John wondered if this was what Dean's life was like now, knowing how the people around him felt but not always knowing the cause.

"Responsible?" Sam hissed the second cold air struck his face. "Who are you to lecture me about being responsible?" That oh-so-annoying pissy tone was out in force and what Dean liked to call the 'bitch-face'. It was going to be a long weekend.

John paused in the middle of the parking lot to face his child. He was the parent here and it was high time he acted like it.

"Yes," he replied calmly, "responsible. I was not lecturing, I was attempting to reenforce your decision to see a therapist." He locked gazes with Sam and watched as the fight drained out of the younger man. "You are in therapy? You admitted as much. And I believe Professor Melton is head of the Psychology Department, not Family Law."

Sam's mouth flopped open. "B-but... How?"

"In the truck," John ordered, one foot slipping on the ice covered asphalt. "It's too damn cold to talk out here."

Safe inside the truck, Sam remained silent but his eyes demanded answers.

"I've been up to Stanford," John admitted, coaxing the truck engine to start. He sighed as he realized they would need to wait a couple of minutes for the engine to warm up. Turning, he found Sam staring at him. "I came by to check up on you, make sure you were safe. And I might have, uh, obtained copies of your report cards. Nice GPA, by the way."

Sam's brow furrowed slowly. "Thanks. But you went all the way to Stanford and never bothered to actually see me?"

"I saw you," John replied, his voice going rough. It was a damn good thing Dean wasn't here, he reflected. Doing this while worrying about the effects of his emotional state on Dean would be damn near impossible.

"You saw me!" Sam exploded. Here it came. Better now than later around Dean. "You were close enough to see me and couldn't be bothered to talk to me? To walk up and say hi!"

This would be the hard part. John forced his usual anger, which he now recognized as his defense mechanism, down. Good thing he'd had lots of practice with controlling his emotions lately. "I guess not and I'm not going to make excuses. You know, Sam, you can call me names and blame me all you want. I probably deserve it. But the fact is you have a phone in your pocket and it works. If you had ever called me or Dean, we would have answered."

John had Sam's attention now and he held it moment before turning away. He could have gone in for the kill then and mentioned how Dean hadn't deserved the silent treatment intended for him, but he didn't. Sam had plenty to deal with as it was, and he didn't even know about half of it yet.

* * *

William Drake glanced around furtively. He could hear his wife's voice from the den where she talked to their son on the phone. She kept saying he sounded better since going back to the Institute but they still had not heard the results of the emergency math exam he had been required to take. Then again, perhaps no news was good news. Surely if the school had already decided to hold Bobby back they would have been contacted.

William sat at his home computer and fired up an internet browser window. From a search engine, he typed in 'christo'. Bobby calling him that had been bothering him. He pressed the search button.

A list of websites about some artist couple filled his screen. Bobby called him an artist? Definitely not. William tried again. This time he typed in 'christo definition'. A mountain range popped up in his search: Sangre de Cristo. It was spelled wrong but it intrigued him. William chose that link. He read down a ways until he reached what it meant. Sangre de Cristo, also spelled Christo, meant Blood of Christ.

Bobby called him Christ? In another language?

William sighed and leaned back in his chair. Was it a dig? Or diss? What were the kids calling it these days? Anyway, was it some kind of slur against his religion since he and his wife were raised in different faiths?

No. No, Bobby wasn't like that. He may have been at that school for a while now, but his son would not have changed that much. The Xavier Institute was far too tolerant of religious faiths and opinions to foster such an attitude. Of the instructors he and his wife had met, they had origins from all over the world. It wouldn't make sense for them to be promoting a fascist-type mindset. Those would not work in such a diverse environment. And to be honest, he had the distinct impression Bobby's favorite teacher, that Professor Hunter, would not tolerate such behavior. Speaking of which, he could call Bobby's teacher and ask about the test. While he had the man on the phone, he might be able to ask what the teaching staff knew about this 'christo' business.

First thing in the morning William planned on calling the Institute. If Professor Hunter was not available due to the holiday, he would leave a message. Feeling that a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, William shut down his internet search. If he hurried, he might be able to catch his wife before she hung up and wish Bobby a happy new year.

* * *

Jim decided to sit in the cushioned armchair by the fire while he waited to be served his pizza. The changes in Dean were rather remarkable. The young man was happy, outgoing, and made no pretense over being able to sense others' emotional states. Based on Bobby and John's descriptions, Jim had began to suspect Dean had been empathic for some time and had been trying to hide it. Now he felt fairly certain of it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of a sharp edge digging into his back. With a frown Jim dug a fairly thick book out of his chair. He flipped it over to see the title, The Secret Garden.

"Who would have left this here?" he muttered to himself.

"What?" Bobby asked, taking the other chair close to the hearth. The other hunter took the book from him with a frown. "Been rentin' the cabin out to lady hunters, Jim?" he chuckled.

"You know I don't rent this place out," Jim argued, "and I know of no one who-" He stopped midsentence at the expression on Bobby's face when the front cover was flipped open. "What is it?"

A slow wide grin spread as Bobby removed a yellow post-it note from inside the cover. He passed it over with a wink. "Got a feelin' I know who this book belongs to."

Jim accepted the offered note. "Oh my," he said softly after reading it, "I suppose Dean is quite infatuated."

Bobby's grin was wide and knowing. He motioned for Jim to pass the note back, which he tucked inside the front cover.

"Here we go," Dean announced in a loud voice. Bobby jumped, shoving the book behind his back. Dean walked in front of them holding two paper plates loaded with pizza. "What?" he asked. "Bobby?"

Interesting how Dean zeroed in on 'the culprit'. Perhaps Bobby's emotions gave him away. Now would it be guilt or glee?

"Nuthin'," Bobby protested, holding out his hands for one of the plates. "You gonna hand that over or do I get to starve? And where's the beer, boy?"

"I only have two hands," Dean protested but there was a smile on his face when he said it. "Back in a second." He handed the second plate to Jim before returning to the kitchen area.

Bobby snatched the book from behind his back. He eyed the fire briefly as he set his plate on the hearth. With a shake of his head, Bobby bounded out of the chair and made for their bags. Jim noticed now that Bobby had placed his bag next to Dean's duffel. He shoved the book inside Dean's duffel then pushed his hand inside of his own bag and felt around. Curious, Jim watched.

"Jim?"

Jim's head turned at the sound of Dean's voice. Three beers dangled from one hand while the other supported a plate laden with what could be an entire pizza. Slightly stunned by the sight, Jim took two of the beers. Dean sat on the brick hearth, his back to the fire.

"You know I don't usually indulge," Jim mentioned as he opened his beer.

A happy grin flashed across Dean's face. "Oh, one won't kill you. After that, there's plenty of juice in the fridge. And I picked up some tea bags just for you. I know how cranky you can be in the morning when you don't have your tea." He winked, the scamp.

"Bobby!" Dean called. "Pizza's getting cold and the beer's getting warm!"

"In a minute," Bobby growled, "I got to find this."

Dean chuckled. He leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially, "Libby would have a field day with his grammar."

"Is she an English teacher?" Jim guessed, knowing Dean worked at some kind of mutant school.

Dean shook his head, eyes twinkling with delight. "She's the school librarian." He took a large bite of pizza. "Bobby!" he shouted through a full mouth.

"Keep your shirt on, boy," Bobby grumbled. "Ah!" He pulled his hand out of the bag clutching a brown leather object. "Catch!"

Dean set his plateful of pizza in his lap. The brown leather sailed across the cabin into Dean's waiting hands. The young man studied it curiously before pulling a beautifully carved hunting knife from its sheath. "Damn, Bobby. Where'd you find this?"

Bobby held his head up proudly as he rejoined them by the fire. "Trade. Guy wanted a couple of special charms and offered me that knife. See the carving? Those are some heavy-duty protection symbols there. Don't know it'd do any good against a demon but you were the first person I thought of when I saw it."

The smile they were graced with wasn't Dean's usual cocky smirk, this one was broad and genuinely happy. "Awesome. Thanks, Bobby." He slipped the knife safely back inside its sheath. Dean looked up at them again. "Did Logan call you yet?"

Bobby shrugged, returning to his chair and dinner. "Briefly. He sounded busy. Now I think you're supposed to tell us what happened Christmas?"

"Mmm." Dean nodded eagerly. He swallowed before launching into a brief description of the events involving his visit with his half-brother. Then Dean crammed an entire slice of pizza in his mouth. Clearly some things had not changed.

"It always gladdens my heart to see a young man enjoy his meal," Jim observed.

Bobby shook his head with a grunt and an eyeroll. "Wait until you see the way he eats these days."

Jim shrugged. "So far, I see no difference."

Dean chuckled, chewing through yet another slice of pizza. It had been easily years since Jim had seen Dean's behavior so happy and relaxed. It was most encouraging. Bobby and John were clearly right; Dean might be a mutant but he was still Dean. And it was important to remember that Dean had possessed this mutant gene and possibly some level of empathy all of his life. To not be a mutant would make him not Dean. The wonders and glory of God were never ending.

"What I can't figure," Bobby continued, "is why some bad-ass demon is after a bunch of mutant kids."

"Sometimes we target the things we fear," Jim pointed out. "What if mutants pose a threat to this demon? Or perhaps all demons?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Dean's face. "You know, I can tell when there's a demon around. Or pretty much anything supernatural."

Jim leaned forward in interest, at the same time as Bobby. "How?" they asked in unison.

Dean shrugged. "All the hair on the back of my neck stands straight out and there's a nasty tingling on my skin." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Oh, and they taste bad."

Jim wondered if he heard that right. "They taste bad?"

"Yeah, their emotions. Nasty." Dean made a face and shuddered. Then he took a swig of his beer as though the mere thought of it brought back the bad taste.

Jim glanced at Bobby who simply shrugged. He considered asking if all emotions had a 'taste' but the sounds of a truck motor broke the silence outside the cabin. Dean's face lit up like a small child on Christmas morning.

"About frigging time," he groused, setting aside his plate. He stood between them. "Uh, how do I look?"

"Shut up and get out there, boy," Bobby said gruffly, swatting Dean's arm.

Jim waited until Dean was at the door before leaning over to whisper to Bobby, "How do I look? Was he serious?"

"Tol' ya he was more emotional," Bobby replied under his breath. "Just ignore it."

"I'll try." Jim watched Dean take a deep breath, settling his nerves, before stepping outside. "But it's going to take a little getting used to."


	61. Chapter 61: New Year's Part 2

I've been called _EVIL _for leaving the last chapter that way. Am I _EVIL_? Yes. Yes I am. Why? Because it's _FUN_.

Chapter 61: **New Year's – Part 2**

"Sam, there are going to be a few other surprises this weekend," Dad warned him as they pulled on to the private unpaved road which led to Pastor Jim's cabin. "Just don't freak out, okay? Freaking out would be...bad."

"Honestly Dad, as long as everyone hasn't been lying to me about how great Dean is, I'll be fine," Sam protested.

"Are you sure?" Dad asked, casting a quick glance his way. "You won't feel let down that your brother doesn't absolutely need you around? Because I'm having a few issues with that myself."

Sam stared in utter disbelief at his father. "You're admitting to having issues?"

Dad chuckled. He seemed far more relaxed than he had after picking Sam up from the airport. "Like I said, being in therapy is responsible."

Dad was in...? Oh, no freaking way! Not in a million years! Not in...in...in something else impossible!

"Oh, come on, Dad!" Sam exclaimed. "You can not serious!"

Dad sighed heavily. "Very. Look, your brother and I had some problems we needed to work through, for his sake, not mine."

That figured. Like Dad would ever admit to needing anything for himself except guns and ammo.

Dad parked by the cabin, third vehicle out. First was the Impala, which was a huge relief to see, then some car Sam didn't recognize. "Who else is supposed to be here?" he asked suspiciously. "Wasn't this supposed to be just the three of us?"

Dad rolled his eyes and turned off the truck. "Jim and Bobby."

"Really." Sam took a deep breath. "I, uh, wasn't counting on seeing them."

"Everybody is really looking forward to seeing you, Sammy." Dad shrugged. "You were missed."

"It's Sam," he replied irritably. Dad couldn't come out and say 'I missed you', could he? Oh, no. The man always had to-

A strong hand gripped his left shoulder. "Especially by me." It sounded like Dad's voice and it was his father's lips moving. "I missed you."

"Christo," Sam threw back quickly.

Dad chuckled and shoved his shoulder away. "I almost forgot, I have two smartasses. Grab your bag, it won't walk inside by itself."

Sam rolled his eyes before grabbing his duffel from behind the seat. Somehow the presence of Bobby and Pastor Jim, whose calls and messages he had been ignoring, was not exactly comforting. Sam seriously considered taking another one of his magic pills before heading into the cabin. He stood uncertainly outside in the cold with night descending quickly. The sky overhead was solid dark gray clouds, the promise of a large storm coming. Hopefully it wasn't an omen.

* * *

Logan peered out the window at the gray evening sky. Dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon. "I don't like it," he growled.

"What is it, Logan?" Ororo walked up to join him at the large picture window. She frowned when she spotted the approaching storm. "No, I don't think I like it either. Excuse me."

Logan waited indoors while she went outside. When Ororo returned she did not look happy.

"It's an ice storm. A very large one," she announced. "It's too big to divert but perhaps I can lessen the effects on campus."

"Too big? Even for you?" Logan asked, surprised.

She looked at him with a calculating gaze. "You have been spending too much time with Hunter, I think."

Logan scowled. "It's worse'n that. I'm s'posed to look after Libby while he's gone. How the hell am I s'posed to do that?"

"Really?" Ororo glanced out the window again. "If I were to make a suggestion? Be certain she is inside the mansion before that storm hits."

Logan spun around. Oh, that irritatin' woman! What was she doin' walkin' around outside? He sprinted outdoors to find Libby walkin' around with a huge smile, like there wasn't a storm so huge comin' that even Ororo couldn't stop it.

"Libby!" he shouted, racing up to her. "What the hell are ya doin'?"

She turned around, giving him a curious look. "Going for a walk. Isn't it beautiful today?"

Logan frowned at her. "You got some screws loose? That's a big damn storm comin'. You need ta be inside."

She rolled her eyes. "You sound like Dean. I'll go in before it hits." The librarian who didn't have no sense waved him off. "And it's, do you have some screws loose. Or, even better, do you have some loose screws?"

"Ain't got no idea whach're talkin' about," he grunted at her. Dean owed him so big. Guy night hadn't been worth all this. Next time they was startin' with the mutant ant movie. Period.

She pressed a hand to her forehead. "Oh, that one may give me a headache. Please, Logan, I'm enjoying my walk. I will come in soon." Libby glared at him. "I promise. Go inside."

Logan shoved a cigar in the corner of his mouth then he stuck his hands into the waistband of his jeans. "Nope. As long as you're out here, so'm I."

Libby gave him a downright dirty look before turnin' her back on him. Logan followed a couple-a steps behind the whole way, keepin' one eye on that storm blowin' in. When she finally figured out he wasn't goin' in without her, she sighed real big an' headed inside. 'bout damn time, too. It was gettin' colder.

Totally ignorin' the fact he existed, Libby walked into the mansion and straight up the stairs to her room. At least he wouldn't haveta worry about her no more today. He wondered who would be up for some poker? That punk kid Drake was back. He could sit in for Gambit. Logan chuckled to himself, imagining what an easy mark the brat would be. Unless he could read minds?

Uh, maybe he outta talk ta Hank first.

Logan looked out the window. That was one nasty storm. He hoped Dean made it out to that cabin already. Bein' out on the road in an ice storm wouldn't be no kind o' fun. But what Logan really hoped was not to be hearin' nuthin' but Sam-Sam-Sam after Dean came back.

* * *

The cabin door flung open with a loud crack, like a rifle shot. Sam spun in place and saw a man walking towards him. There was still enough light out to be able to see clearly. Dean strode toward him, a bright smile on a face with a faded tan, like he had been indoors a lot lately. His steps were strong and even, no hint of a limp.

Sam wasn't sure if he should expect a handshake or to be tackled. His feet shuffled uncertainly under him and he adjusted the strap of his duffel on his shoulder.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was bold and cheerful. Before Sam could wrap his head around it, he found himself on the receiving end of a crushing hug. Shocked by the strength of Dean's embrace, which was far more convincing of his brother's fitness than any assurance in a written letter or on the phone, Sam stared at the top of his brother's head. The hug was brief but that did not make it any less surprising.

Dean stepped back and grasped him by the shoulders. "You look good. College life agrees with you."

"You, uh, look pale," Sam replied, knowing in his gut it wasn't the best response.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "You won't quit, will you? Come on, I'll put a couple more pizzas in the oven."

"Dean!" Dad called. "We picked up dessert."

Dean grinned at the image of a half dozen cheesecakes with Dad's legs. "Awesome! Does this mean you liked hunting with Logan?"

Dad's head appeared over the top of his burden. He smiled and winked.

"I've heard Logan's side. Can't wait to hear yours." Dean took a few boxes of dessert before heading into the cabin.

"Sam, are you going to stay out there all night?" Dean called from the cabin door. "Or hasn't that fancy college taught you that big bad clouds mean a storm is coming?" He waved a hand at the sky.

Sam rolled his eyes. His feet felt heavy and wooden as he approached the cabin and...his Old Life. This cabin and its contents represented everything he had been avoiding for over a year. At the threshold, with the toes of his sneakers pressed against the wood, Sam froze.

Dad and Dean stood in the kitchen area, Dean putting pizza in the oven and Dad stuffing the fridge full of boxes of cheesecake. Pastor Jim and Bobby sat by the fire waving at him to come in. It all looked so inviting. Comfortable. Here everyone knew him, all about him. Scratch comfortable. More like awkward. Keeping secrets here was always difficult. But then, the reason he was here was to make sure they weren't keeping secrets about Dean from him.

There was only one way to know for sure. He had to step over this threshold. He had to rejoin his Old Life.

"Sam?" Dean stood in the center of the cabin giving him a questioning look. "Dude, are you comin' in or what?"

Chewing at his lower lip, Sam gave his brother a nod. He lifted one foot up and over the threshold. It landed on the wood cabin floor with heavy thump. Dean waved at him impatiently. Same old Dean. With a deep breath, Sam dragged his left foot into the cabin. He shoved the door closed behind him.

This was it, what he had been avoiding for almost a year and a half. Everybody was going to try talking him into quitting school and going back to hunting now. Sam dumped his duffel by the wall with everyone else's stuff. Dean sat on the hearth in front of Bobby and Pastor Jim already scarfing down pizza. Typical. He nodded at the empty space beside him.

"Uh, I was going to grab some pizza," Sam said motioning to the kitchen area.

Dean shook his head.

"Gotta wait," Bobby answered. "We didn't know when you two would show up. Dean just put some more on."

"I suspect there is plenty of beer, however," Pastor Jim added with a smile. "It is good to see you, Sam."

"I'll get it," Dad called from the kitchen. "Have a seat, Sam."

Oh, sure. Sam, go sit with all the people you've been avoiding for the last year. Perfect. Then again, that was the whole purpose behind this weekend, wasn't it? Not Sam's purpose, of course. Sam only wanted to see his brother and make sure everything was fine. The rest of this was his family's idea. Jess would say this was a good sign. Jess also didn't know his family.

With a deep sigh, Sam joined Dean on the hearth. "Uh, hey Bobby. Pastor Jim."

"Sam." Bobby nodded at him. "I almost forgot what your voice sounded like."

Yeah, here it came.

"Bobby," Dean growled. He shot their old family friend a hard look.

Bobby chuckled and shook his head. "All right, Dean. All right. I was playin'." Bobby winked at Sam.

Sam felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease. "About that. I really should have returned some of your calls, Bobby. Uh, you too, Jim."

"Oh, so it's Jim now? Not Pastor Jim?" Pastor Jim shot a look at Bobby. "Should I take offense to that, Bobby?"

"Dunno, Jim. I might if I were you," Bobby replied with a serious expression.

Dean chuckled, one arm coming up to nudge Sam's shoulder. "They're kidding," his brother assured him, eyes twinkling with joy. "How's school?"

"We hear you're a pre-law major," Pastor Jim added. "What made you decide on that, Sam?"

Sam frowned for a moment, wondering how they knew so much, until he remembered Dad had been to Stanford. "Studying medicine really didn't appeal to me."

"There are plenty of other subjects, Sam," Pastor Jim persisted. "Why law? I'm curious."

Pastor Jim could make eating pizza and drinking beer look dignified. It was amazing.

Sam shrugged. "It seemed like a solid career choice."

He heard Dad snort in derision from behind Pastor Jim. Dean shot him a hard look and Dad looked behind him, like he didn't know what Dean was upset about.

"Excuse me," Dean muttered, setting his plate of pizza aside. He stood up, casting a backwards wistful glance at his plate. After picking up a slice, Dean headed for the door. He jerked his head at Dad before heading outdoors. A blast of cold greeted them. Sam watched curiously as Dad took a deep breath, his head dropping as if in shame or dread, before following Dean.

Bobby grunted, his eyes narrowed at the closing cabin door. "Couldn't make it an hour. Jim, you owe me ten bucks."

"Uh, what's going on?" Sam demanded. "What was that?" He waved a hand at the entrance to the cabin.

"Your daddy's in trouble, that's what," Bobby replied. "Anybody else need more beer?"

Pastor Jim sighed sadly. "I would prefer juice, if you don't mind, Bobby."

"Yeah, sure. Reckon I should check on the pizza too." Bobby took his empty beer can with him to the kitchen.

"Dad's in trouble?" Sam asked, to which Jim nodded. Amazed wouldn't come close to describing what he was experiencing at this moment. His whole body felt kind of numb and a thick fog descended over his brain making thinking difficult. He might need to call Jess and ask her opinion of all this.

Sam blinked a few times, trying to absorb what he just witnessed. Before he could ask another question, the door opened and Dad and Dean walked in. Dean didn't look real happy until his gaze landed on Sam. Then a bright smile, Sam assumed it was a real one, appeared.

"You better not have stolen any of my food, dude," Dean threatened with the smile still on his face.

Sam glanced down at the overflowing plate next to him. Damn. That would've been a good idea. Too bad he had been distracted.

"It's ready! Sam!" Bobby bellowed from across the cabin.

Dean frowned suddenly, staring at Jim. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

"Dean?" Sam asked, standing. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?" The trapped expression, like Dean needed to hide something, appeared then faded quickly into one of his brother's fake smiles. "Wrong? With what? Nothing's wrong."

Dad harrumped from behind him then made quick time to the kitchen and the pizza as Dean turned around.

"Better get some pizza before Dad eats it all," he added.

"I heard that!" Dad snapped.

"You were supposed to!" Dean replied with a laugh. He waved Sam towards the kitchen. Sam glanced back to see Dean bending over Jim to talk in a voice too low for him to hear. Jim shook his head and shrugged. Dean frowned and whispered in Jim's ear, one hand pointing at Jim's chair. Sam stopped to watch, fascinated by this exchange. Jim motioned over by the wall, where all of their bags were. Dean asked another question to which Jim shook his head again. Now appearing relieved, Dean smiled and patted Jim's shoulder with a wink.

With slow measured steps Sam approached the kitchen.

"Here, Sammy," Dad held out a full plate.

On automatic, Sam accepted it. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Sam?" Dad peered at him. "All right, son?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinking."

"Careful," Dad muttered under his breath. "That gets you busted around here." Dad left the kitchen area before Sam could ask him to explain. Damn.

* * *

Perry reached into the backseat for his coat. He nearly hit Tyler in the passenger seat as he put it on. Tyler thought about saying something, but Perry was a huge guy and he felt rather intimidated by the man's size. A lot of guys his size were soft-spoken and nice to a fault. Not Perry. Perry was about as nice as a junkyard dog and twice as ornery.

"What about that ice storm?" Perry asked, shrugging his coat up over his bulging shoulders.

"I think we need to head back to the compound pretty soon," Tyler admitted. "I don't want to freeze to death out here. Unless you're really up for sharing body heat?" He added the last part intentionally. In addition to hating mutants, Perry was a homo-phobe.

An ultra-sour expression turned Perry's face even uglier than it was before. "Oh, hell, no. Let's give it ten more minutes. Maybe her highness will come outside to look at the storm again."

Tyler nodded. From where they were parked two blocks down from the Xavier Institute, they had a decent view of the large door on the backside of the mansion which was the main access to the rest of the school grounds. No one could leave the mansion for any other building of this so-called school without them seeing it. Using a high powered telescopic lens Tyler had been able to snap several shots of the pretend princess coming and going from the Institute's mansion where all those demonic mutants lived. It would be nice to have at least one of that bodyguard-husband of hers, preferably with another woman, but so far he had been a no-show.

"Too bad we're not allowed to take her out here," Perry said, leaning in closer to peer at the digital screen on the back of Tyler's camera.

"Come on, man," Tyler complained, trying to shake Perry off his shoulder. "At least buy me dinner first."

"Enough with the homo jokes!" Perry shouted.

"Yeah, yeah," Tyler muttered, zooming in on the door. There appeared to be some activity. There she was, the fake princess. She walked outside, facing the sky overhead with her arms stretched out to her sides. Tyler snapped away. She stopped and closed her eyes, a perfect pose. He couldn't tell if her mouth was moving or not. Probably some pagan weather ritual, he decided.

"Damn pagans," he muttered, thinking what a waste it was that she had to be a mutant, and a pagan mutant at that. If she were of the proper faith perhaps she could have been saved.

"You said it," Perry agreed. "Told you we needed to wait a little longer."

Tyler ignored him, taking as many shots as he could before her head lifted, arms lowered and eyes opened. She actually looked right at the camera for several more shots, which Tyler was snapping frantically. After she returned to the mansion he sat staring thoughtfully at the mutant school.

"You know," he said slowly, "this storm would be great cover for the Reverend's plan to take Xavier."

He glanced over to see a cold thin grin snake its way across Perry's face. "Yeah. Let's go. If the boss is ready we could hit 'em tonight. Security doesn't look that great." A hard shove landed on Tyler's shoulder. "And you were worried about bein' too cold tonight."

* * *

Dean checked his watch as he scarfed down the last few bites of his pizza. It was about time to call Libby and make sure she was behaving herself.

"Dad? How's the weather look outside?" Dean asked, taking his empty plate to the kitchen sink.

"Dark. It'll probably start really comin' down soon. I'm glad we all beat it here," Dad replied, peering out the front cabin window. "Why?" He turned towards Dean.

"I need to make a call," Dean replied with a shrug. "Thought I'd do it outside."

"You don't need to-" Sam started to say when Dad cut him off.

"Great idea, son," Dad replied enthusiastically. "You do that and we'll set up the card table. You did say you wanted to play, right?"

Dean nodded, feeling the weight of Sam's gaze on him. He tried to ignore it as he grabbed his jacket from their pile of bags and coats against the far wall. A sense of abandonment, strong and bitter, flooded him. Dean paused in pulling on his jacket to study the faces of his family watching him. Only Sam could be the source of it.

"Want to come, Sammy?" Dean asked as he zipped up his coat, offering a temporary escape. "I won't be gone long."

"Sure." Sam jumped off the hearth and relief washed out the sense of abandonment.

Dean stood at the door waiting while Sam pulled on a hoodie followed by a heavier jacket, neither of which was suitable for weather not on the California coast.

"Do you need a better coat?" Dean asked, pulling the door open for his brother. "We can pick one up for you while you're here."

Sam's eyes rolled all the way back in his head before he walked outdoors. Dean turned to shrug at Dad as he closed the door behind them. Same old Sammy.

They walked away from the cabin in silence. Dean led them down a trail which wound around the cabin in a large circle. A third of the way around Jim had installed a park bench in a small clearing right off the trail. Dean brushed the debris from the trees off and Sam joined him. When the surface was cleaner, they both sat.

"Are you really out here to call someone?" Sam asked anxiously, his emotions fluctuating so wildly Dean could not pin down what his brother might be feeling.

"Dude, relax," he admonished. "What's wrong with you? And yes I really came out here to call someone." Dean flipped his collar up to protect against the ice cold wind blowing in. "Now what's bugging you? I don't look healthy enough?" He rolled his eyes as a blast of emotions from Sam told him he had at least hit close to the problem.

Sam groaned, his head dropping and rolling from side to side. "I don't know, Dean. I just don't know. This wasn't what I expected." His head stopped rolling and turned to face Dean. "At all."

"What did you expect?" Dean asked, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets for warmth.

"Honestly? For Dad to start yelling. For everyone to tell me to quit school and go back to hunting." Sam's head snapped upright and his eyes widened. When he spoke, his voice dropped to a hushed tone. "Dad actually complimented my GPA. I thought he was possessed."

Dean laughed, the sound ringing off the trees around them. Wind whipped through the branches shaking dead leaves loose, which scattered wildly before drifting to the ground. He glanced up, a third of the visible sky was black. Damn. They were going in soon, whether or not he had talked to Libby.

"See? I told you things had changed," Dean replied, chuckling.

"And what was that crap with you dragging Dad outside? Bobby said he was in trouble with you. Since when can Dad be in trouble? With you?" Sam demanded.

"I'm not a toy soldier, Sam," Dean said stiffly, remembering a few key phrases from that last fight between Sam and Dad. "I can get mad."

"At Dad?" Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll believe that when I see..." His lips pursed thoughtfully. "But I did see it." He sighed heavily. "Dean, I just can't believe it. Why were you mad at Dad? What did he do? The scoff about me choosing a career that's not hunting? Was that it?"

"No," Dean said slowly. It was interesting to learn what was going on in that scruffy head of Sam's. "The-" Dean imitated Dad's snort. "-was about you being a pre-law major. He doesn't exactly have a high opinion of lawyers in general. I told him to stuff it and keep his mouth shut."

A total absence of emotions followed. Actually, it was kind of nice. Sam might be in shock but at least Dean wasn't having to deal with a torrent of emotions from his little brother. With Sam temporarily out of commission, Dean pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket to press a well used speed dial number.

It rang once before Libby answered, "Dean?"

"Hey, Baby," he said, relaxing instantly from the sound of her voice. "How's it going? How're you feeling?"

"I would feel better if some people would let me take my walk outside," she snapped in an aggravated tone. "I don't suppose you know anything about that?"

Dean glanced at the sky again. Over half of it had turned black while he had been talking to Sam. "Well if you were outside taking a walk with this storm coming in, I would hope you'd go inside."

"Dean!" she shouted. He winced and shifted the phone to his other ear. "Did you or did you not tell Logan to keep me indoors?"

"I did not," he said defensively. "I just asked him to keep an eye on you. I don't care if he has to do it inside or outside."

She growled. Literally. Dean swallowed nervously. This was kind of difficult territory to navigate without being able to sense her real emotions. Funny how dependent he seemed to be on his empathy now when a few months ago he would have been perfectly happy for it to simply vanish.

"And why does he need to keep an eye on me?" Libby asked slowly, her voice tight and controlled. Crap. He might be in serious trouble.

But she had to ask? Really? Didn't she understand? The cold out here wasn't feeling quite as chilly as his temper rose.

"Libby, there is a demon stalking the Institute. You were having nightmares about the damn thing last time we left the grounds. I kind of think that's a good enough reason for me to worry!" he found himself shouting at her.

No, no, no. He shouldn't be shouting at her. Ah, hell! How did normal people do this relationship crap anyway?

Dean took a couple of deep breaths, slow inhales and exhales with his eyes closed. The silence from the other end was deafening. He grit his teeth, wondering if she had hung up. Before he could pull the phone away from his ear to check the digital display he heard her voice.

"You're worried about me?" she asked, her voice calmer. "Even when I'm here?"

"Whenever I can't be there," he admitted, feeling more than a little sheepish about it.

"You're taking me dancing," Libby announced.

Dean's eyes flew open. It was definitely darker out here. "Huh?"

"The first Saturday you're back, you are taking me out to the blues club and we're going dancing. That is the only way I'm going to put up with your buddy Logan following me around every damn place I go."

This he could live with. "Sure, Baby," he promised. "No problem."

"And you will spend the night?" Libby was the one sounding sheepish now.

He thought it should sound more like a demand than a question but, man, he liked being asked. "Bet on it," he said with a grin.

"In that case, go have fun with your family. Warden Logan is on duty here so you don't need to worry about me," Libby told him.

A fresh blast of arctic cold wind blew right through his jacket. Damn. It was like walking into a deep freezer. Dean wrapped his free arm over his chest. "Okay, Baby. And you'd better stay inside until after this storm blows over. It's looking pretty nasty out here."

"Then you'd better stay inside too," she replied. "See you soon!"

"You too. Bye." Dean hung up, quickly stuffing his phone into his jacket pocket where his hand might escape the cold.

"Please tell me you're ready to go in," Dean practically pleaded with his brother, "before we freeze our balls off out here."

"Did you, uh, really tell Dad to stuff it?" Sam asked in a soft voice, looking out from under a curtain of long bangs.

"Yeah, I did," Dean replied. For the first time since his brother's arrival, simple warm emotions spread from Sam. But it was too frigging cold to enjoy them out here. "Are we going in or what?"

"Sure." Sam's grin was small and insecure but his emotions remained warm. They weren't as sweet as Libby's but they still left a good taste. "I don't suppose you talked to Jim and Bobby too?" Sam asked as they made their way back to the cabin.

"About what?" Dean asked. "You being pre-law? I don't think they care what you want to major in, Sam. I mean, I'm sure they care, but not like...uh..."

"I get it, Dean," Sam said quickly. "What I meant was, did you tell them not to tell me to go back to hunting?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. I think you made it pretty damn clear that you don't want that life. I kind of doubt anyone will harass you about it."

Sam's emotions warmed up even more and the taste grew lighter. "That's good. So who were you talking to?"

"Libby," Dean replied with a shrug. "Say, is the blond looker you hang out with on campus your girlfriend? What was her name again?"

"Jess," Sam said with a wide smile. He stopped short outside the cabin door. "Oh, man. I should've called her. Do you mind?"

Dean shrugged, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders. "Okay, but hurry. I don't want to turn into a popsicle out here."

Sam frowned, thinking about it. "Well, I could call her later, before we go to bed."

Dean chuckled. "Dude, that's assuming we don't stay up all night playing cards."

"Good point." Sam pulled out his cell. He had to look for his girlfriend's number to call her. Why the hell wasn't she on speed dial? Sam's conversation was much shorter, more along the lines of everything is fine, plane trip was good, no one had yelled at him, yes Dean was here, and bye.

"What was that about me being here?" Dean asked as Sam put away the phone, his curiosity nearly overwhelming him.

Sam shrugged, glancing away. "We should go in."

Dean rolled his eyes but it was too frigging cold out here to argue. He hurried to the cabin and yanked open the door. The warmth which flowed over him was not just from the fire. Libby was right, he had been needing some family time.


	62. Chapter 62: New Year's Part 3

Chapter 62: **New Year's – Part 3**

It was completely dark outside, not even the streetlights visible in the storm. Logan growled softly under his breath. He didn't like it. Dean should be here, not out in the middle of the woods in some cabin. He shifted on the window seat in the large downstairs formal dining room. It had the largest picture window in the mansion. Logan was kind of surprised he was the only person watching the storm from here.

"Logan!" Summer's voice echoed in the large room.

"Yeah?" He couldn't peel his eyes from the bright flashes of white in the turbulent black swirls of wind.

"Have you seen the security footage from today?" Summers demanded.

Logan turned away from the window. "Nah, I ain't had time to look at it yet. Why?"

"I'll show you." Summers' foot tapped impatiently while Logan stood up. He waved his team leader out first. Stretching as followed down the hall to the security room, next to the The Professor's study, Logan wondered how often he was supposed to 'check' on that irritatin' librarian. The least she could do was be a little nice about it. It wasn't like none of it was his idea either.

"Here." One finger tapped on a security camera monitor.

Logan leaned over the desk for a better look. The screen showed a four door car, probably a rental, parked down the street. "Yeah?" He figured there had to be more to it than that.

"I've checked all the cameras covering this street. That car didn't move all afternoon and the men inside were pointing something at the school."

"Where?" Logan leaned in closer.

Summers fast forwarded the video until he found the spot he wanted. "What does that look like to you?"

Logan frowned, studying it. The time-stamp at the bottom didn't do his stomach no favors, neither.

"Libby and Ororo was outside right about then," he informed Summers, pointing out the time. "I'd say they was doin' recon and it was a camera."

Summers let out an angry breath. "Terrific. And we're stuck in the middle of an ice storm. Now what?"

Logan shrugged. "They'd have to be about a hundred kinds of crazy to try anything in the middle of this storm. The visibility is zero out there. If I was plannin' to attack, I'd wait until the worst of the storm is over. I'd hope the mansion took some damage, like the power goin' out, which would take all the cameras and security systems down. Then, before the storm was totally over, I'd bring in a team and hit hard and fast."

"I was afraid of that," Summers replied with a frown. "See if you can round up Banshee, Nightcrawler, and Colossus. Ororo is busy trying to keep the worst of the storm off of us. I think between the four of us we can prepare a decent defense for the school."

Logan scowled. "Prob'bly. But I wish Hunter was here."

Summers gave him a strong look. "I'm sure we can manage perfectly well without any urban camouflage tips."

Logan shook his head, walking away. "You still ain't seen 'im in action for real," he muttered to himself. Now he had to look after the whole institute and Libby? There had better be a damn good hunt with Dean later to pay him back for this. Maybe a werewolf? Yeah, that sounded like fun. Dean needed to find him a werewolf.

* * *

Tyler watched Perry pace the ready room while a storm raged outside. Of course no one would dare tell Perry to go sit down and wait. Well, no one except the boss and their mission leader.

"Perry." Speaking of their mission leader, it was about time Peter spoke up. "You're going to wear out the carpet." Peter was tall, slender, and had an air of authority about him like an aristocrat.

Perry scowled, his huge hands clenching and unclenching. "We're not waitin' on this stupid storm to stop, are we?"

"I want at least a block of visibility," Peter replied calmly. "When we knock out their power, they'll think it was the storm. Then all the security systems will be off and we can walk in and take Charles Xavier."

"Not kill him?" one of the other guys asked. Tyler had always thought that guy was kind of blood-thirsty, none of the mutants he was sent after ever lived long enough for questioning. He sounded disappointed.

"Reverend Stryker wants Xavier alive," Peter announced, his voice calm, sure and clear. "We take him alive."

The others nodded although no one appeared particularly happy about having to take a mutant back with them. Well, not a live one.

The lights flickered. Everyone froze, waiting. They flickered twice more before going out. Flashlights turned on around the ready room and Peter laughed.

"Well, that's one objective accomplished. It looks like God is on our side tonight, people," their mission leader announced, standing. "Maybe this means we should head out."

"Yes!" Perry hissed, slamming a fist into his palm.

* * *

Dean tossed in two more red poker chips. "Call and I'll take two cards." The light from the oil lamp hanging over their heads was a watery yellow but it was clear and better than playing by firelight.

Sam dealt him the cards and it looked like his luck was holding, three of a kind ace high. Not a full house, but not bad. While Bobby was deciding on whether to call or raise, shifting the bill of his cap up and down trying to make out he had a better hand, Dean's phone went off.

Without moving from the table, because these card sharks would look at his hand if he turned his back for a second, Dean slipped his cell out. "Yeah?" he asked into the phone, recognizing the exchange for the Institute.

"You got power there?" Logan's voice demanded.

"No, dude. Jim's cabin doesn't have electricity," Dean replied. "Why? What happened?"

"You seen there's a storm, right?" Logan asked, sounding like he thought Dean was a moron.

"Yeah, I know about the storm. It's been shakin' the windows for over an hour," Dean said. "Did it knock out the power there?"

"Figures, don't it? We finally get the last of the kids back from visitin' their folks and the damn power goes out. Summers is goin' to make the kids camp out in the rec rooms because they all got a fireplace," Logan informed him.

"What about the staff?" Dean asked, wondering if Libby planned on hiding out in her room during all this. It could turn pretty cold in there without heat.

"I was thinkin' about The Professor's study," Logan said. "It's got its own fireplace. All the folks not watchin' the kids could sleep in there."

"Good idea," Dean replied, relieved Logan had the situation in hand. "Was there anything else?"

"Nah. Just checkin' that you ain't freezin' your ass off," Logan replied.

Dean chuckled. "If Libby gives you any grief, tell her I promise to buy more ice cream if she cooperates."

"In this weather?" Logan demanded. He probably thought Dean had lost his mind.

"Dude, trust me. She'll understand," Dean said, unable to suppress the wide grin on his face.

"Reckon the roads are closed too," Logan added. "You'd better-"

Confused, Dean checked his phone. Full charge, but no Logan and no signal. "Crap," he muttered, banging it against his palm. Still nothing. "Anybody have a signal?"

Sam scrambled for his. "Nope. Damn it, I'm supposed to call Jess at eleven."

"It doesn't look like you're going to," Dad said, holding up his cell. "No signal."

Sam huffed, his aggravation so familiar it actually made Dean feel more comfortable, not less. Dean laughed at his brother, the sense of being 'home' stronger than ever. "Dude, relax. I'm sure she'll forgive you for the cell towers being knocked out of commission."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam mumbled, slamming his cell down on the card table, sending a few of the discards floating to the floor.

Dean leaned over to pick them up, encountering a warm squeeze to his shoulder from Dad on the way up. Bobby threw in his chips as Dean tossed the cards back on the table. Jim folded.

"So are we gonna drag this thing out all weekend?" Bobby demanded, glaring at Dad over his cards. "We're all here."

"Uh, drag what out?" Sam asked.

"Five," Dad replied, tossing in a red chip.

"Winchester," Bobby growled, long and low.

Dad shot a glare in return. "You've been talking to Logan too much. You're starting to sound like him."

Sam cleared his throat, shooting another glare in Dad's direction. "Sorry," Dad muttered with a shrug. "Had to be said."

"Let them finish the hand, Bobby," Jim chided with a pleasant smile. If that slightly unpleasant taste was anything to go by, Jim was not exactly looking forward to the next revelation either.

Dean called. With a confused frown, so did Sam. Dean won the hand.

"Go on, Dad," he said, scooping up his winnings. "I think it's time."

* * *

Logan pounded on that woman's door. Again. He'd kick it in if she made 'im.

"What?" Libby yanked open the door and glared defiantly at him.

"We got a fire goin' in The Professor's study," he explained. "You need to get your ass down there."

Libby stared at him for a long moment, like she was studyin' him or somethin'. "I think I would prefer my 'ass' remain here. But thank you for the generous offer."

Logan slammed a foot in the way of her door closin' and stepped into the narrow opening. "Ain't a request. The power's out. That means it's gonna get real cold up here. We moved all the kids to the rec rooms. There ain't enough room for all the adults too, so you get to bunk in the study."

"No." Her thin pale arms crossed over that flat chest and her plain face hardened stubbornly. With the purple-haired looker workin' at the library, Dean had to ask this one out?

"The way I see it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "is you got two choices. One, you can walk your stubborn ass down to the study or two, I c'n throw ya over my shoulder and carry ya down there, kickin' and hollerin'." He glared right back at her. Logan had faced down all kinds of horrible enemies, some lousy librarian was not gettin' the better of him.

She stared at him again. "Fine," she snapped, stepping up to the open doorway. "Move."

Gritting his teeth, Logan backed out of her way. Libby slammed the door behind her. Her steps were hard and angry all the way down to the study. No friend was worth this kind of freakin' grief. Not even a werewolf hunt could make up for all this.

"The correct phrase should be, the way I see it is you _have _two choices," she corrected him on the way down the stairs. He grunted, imagining his hands around that slender neck. It'd pr'bly snap in two like a twig. Logan would never do it, of course, but some things was nice to think about.

She stayed a couple-a steps ahead of him the whole way to the study. When Libby opened the door she stopped short.

"Now what?" he demanded. "Room ain't cold enough?"

Libby spun around, one arm flingin' out to point at the room. "It's empty! I'm the only person here! What the hell is going on, Logan?" She took a step towards him. "Why am I here?"

Logan closed his eyes and counted to ten. Killin' Dean's girlfriend wasn't exactly a choice here. When he opened them, a mad Libby still stood there glarin' at him. Tryin' to stay calm, Logan took a cigar out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Havin' somethin' to chew on usually helped 'im keep 'is temper.

"You're here so you don't get sick again," Logan replied, tryin' not to yell. He might've growled. Just a little.

"Sick?" Libby sounded confused. "Since when do you care if I'm sick? You don't even like me."

It was Logan's turn to glare. "Since Dean spent a whole week mopin' around 'cause he was worried about you." He grabbed the cigar in one hand to shake in her face. "If you think I'm puttin' up with that again just 'cause you're too damn stubborn to come down here where it's warm, think again lady." He jabbed his thumb into his chest. "I got better things to do!"

She had a funny look on her face, not exactly surprised but not exactly mad either, somethin' inbetween. "Moping?" Libby asked. "Dean was being moody because of me?"

"Moody," Logan snorted. "Now that's a nice way of sayin' it."

"Because of me," she repeated. She kept sayin' it like she couldn't believe it.

"Yep." Logan stuck the cigar back in his mouth so he'd have somethin' to chew on.

"Oh," she said real soft. Logan rolled his eyes. Brats. This whole damn school was full-a brats.

"I am sorry."

His gaze snapped back t her. "Huh?" His hearing was good, but that couldn't be right.

Libby looked right at him. "I am sorry."

"What for?" he asked, feelin' a mite confused himself.

"You're Dean's best friend. I should have come simply because you asked." Libby straightened her shoulders and gave him a nod. "I won't make this mistake again."

"Good." They stood there, starin' at each other for a while until Logan nodded at the roaring fire. "You gonna find a place to sit?"

Libby glanced out the door behind him. "I don't suppose the kitchen is working without power?"

"They're makin' sandwiches," he told her. "Wait here and I'll grab a couple. Anything I should avoid?"

"Just onions," she said. "I'll, uh, be by the fire."

Huh. He had been startin' to question Dean's taste in women, but maybe Libby wasn't too bad after all. Then again, he still couldn't figure out why Dean had passed on the purple haired gal.

* * *

"Remember all those condom lectures Dad used to give us?" Dean asked, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Yeah," Sam replied slowly, wondering if he would need one of his little magic pills for this.

"Guess who didn't listen to them?" Dean asked, grinning.

"Dean!" Dad snapped, one hand slamming down on the table, knocking over towers of poker chips.

"I knew that," Sam muttered to himself.

"No!" Dean replied indignantly. Then he paused, thought about it, and nodded. "Yeah, okay, maybe a couple of times. But this one isn't about me." He finished triumphantly with a huge grin on his face. Then he turned to Dad.

Everyone was watching Dad expectantly. Sam studied their faces, wondering what in the hell was going on here.

"A couple of times?" Dad demanded, his eyes going wide and The Tone coming out. Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. Here it came, all of the things he had been expecting. And dreading.

"What couple of times?" Dad asked. "Tell me you followed up, son!"

"Voice of experience?" Dean asked calmly. "How many did you follow up on?"

"Gentlemen," Jim broke in, his voice calm and rational. "I believe Dean put it best when we first arrived, this is to be a good family weekend, even if some stubborn heads must be bashed together to achieve it." His gaze landed on Dean. "Did you not agree to let your father tell Sam in his own way?"

Dean sighed deeply and nodded, leaning back in the folding chair he was sitting in.

"And you, John," Jim turned his attention to Dad, "did you not promise to tell Sam? I think it is pretty clear that you haven't and I believe that was supposedly your purpose in picking Sam up from the airport?"

Dad gave a shrug. "Had some other stuff to talk about first," he replied.

What stuff, Sam wondered. All they talked about were his stupid pills, being in therapy, and Dean's new job. Oh, yeah, and that last big fight. Okay, maybe they did cover some big ground.

"Lay off Dad," Sam interjected. "We had a lot to talk about on the way over."

All eyes turned to stare at him. Sam swallowed nervously under their scrutiny. "We did," he repeated weakly.

"Damn it," Dean growled, pulling out his wallet. He fished around before removing a ten and holding it out to Jim with his left hand. "Last bet I make with a preacher."

"What bet?" Sam demanded at the same time as Dad.

"Dean?" Jim held on to Dean's arm as he accepted the cash. "What is this?" A silver bracelet slid into view from under the cuff. Sam leaned across the table for a closer look and spotted the symbol used on medic alert bracelets.

"Nothin'," Dean snapped, yanking his arm back. "My boss, Professor Xavier, insisted that I wear it when I leave the grounds. It's no big..." Big brother turned to look at him. "Sam? Are you okay?"

Steel bands tightened around his chest making breathing impossible. Dean's eyes bugged out as Sam's mind raced, trying to figure out if he could move fast enough to grab his little pills before his whole body seized up.

"Oh, hell," Dad said before jumping up from the table. He bolted to the pile of bags against the far wall.

Sam had only eyes for his brother. Medic alert bracelet. He knew there had to be more to it. He knew it! Then something really strange happened. One of Dean's hands lifted to press in the center of his chest and he took a deep breath, like he had to force the air in, and Dean rolled his shoulders. It wasn't the shoulder roll that was strange, Sam had seen his brother make similar motions most of his life, it was the size of it. It was a large roll, his head moving in a circular motion with his shoulders. Sam could almost swear he heard snaps of static electricity when Dean moved.

Sam froze, mesmerized. At this moment Dean was once again his larger-than-life big brother, capable of anything and everything. Nothing could be put past Dean, his brother could perform any act, no matter how dangerous. Or stupid.

A hot tingle, static electricity gone wild, began at his fingertips. The tingling sensation crawled quickly up his arms covering every square inch of skin as it moved. The tingling turned into a wave of warmth which flowed up and over, drowning Sam in its depths. The tight bands around his chest relaxed, much quicker than even a magic pill, and washed away. Astonished, Sam discovered he liked the feeling this way. He felt good, there was no other description. Nothing hurt or ached, not even his knees which were bruised from falling at the airport. He felt warm and secure. Dean was...pale?

"Dude, are you all right?" Sam asked calmly. Whatever happened couldn't be that bad, he would know. Dean wasn't hurt, just tired. "Long drive, huh?"

"Sammy?" Dad demanded from behind him. Sam turned around to see Dad with one hand deep in his bag. "Are you all right? Do you need the, uh, _thing_?"

"Nah, I'm good," Sam assured him. "Real good. But Dean looks tired."

The concerned expression was back and Dad made a beeline for Dean. He tilted Dean's face towards him. "Tell me you didn't, son," he whispered, which was a weird thing for Dad to say.

Dean sighed heavily, appearing more tired by the second. "Had to. Where's the dessert?"

"First we'll put you in a real chair," Dad insisted, "then I'll bring you one of those cheesecakes. The chocolate covered one?"

"Awesome." Dean threw one arm over Dad's shoulders. Bobby walked over to help Dean up from the other side.

Sam looked to Pastor Jim for an explanation.

"I assure you, Sam, I am as baffled as you are," he said. There was a warm smile on his face. "But it is nice out here, isn't it? I must use this cabin more, I had forgotten how pleasant it is."

"With a storm blowing outside?" Sam asked, surprised again.

"Especially with a storm," Jim laughed. "Dry, warm, surrounded by family, who could ask for more?"

"You been drinking?" Bobby demanded, standing over Dean while Dad went to the fridge.

"Half of one beer," Jim declared, "and you saw me drinking it. I am not drunk."

"You sound it," Bobby grunted. "Didn't we have an agreement not to tell these idgits about that?"

"About what?" Jim looked blankly at Bobby. Slow understanding dawned on him. "Ooooooh. The family part? Yes, I believe we did." He turned to face Sam. "Sam, please forget that I said it out loud." He leaned closer, tapping his chest with one finger. "But keep it in your heart."

Sam laughed. Jim _was_ drunk! Off one beer!

"You need to drink more," Dad declared, carrying a whole chocolate covered cheesecake and one fork. "Jim, you're turning into a light weight."

Jim grinned broadly. "I am simply giddy with delight." He clasped his hands together gleefully. "Sam, I want to hear all about Stanford and this young lady you are seeing. After which, I wish to hear more about Dean's school and the young lady he is seeing." He giggled. "Is it me, or does this feel like a Christmas where I don't have to work?"

"Oh, God," Bobby muttered in a low voice, his head hanging down. "Dean?"

Dean said something but his mouth was full so Sam couldn't understand a word of it. Not that it mattered. Why in the world had he avoided his family for so long? This was awesome!

"School is great, Jim," Sam assured him. "I have some fantastic professors."

"Sam. Jim." Dean sounded tired. He waved at them with a cheesecake-covered fork. "Come over here." Dad and Bobby took up positions on the hearth while Jim sat in the other chair. Sam considered pulling a folding chair over to sit in, but it didn't feel right. Instead he sat on the floor right in the middle of all of them, his family, anxious to relate all the news of his life since he left. Sam hoped they weren't planning on going to bed any time soon because he had a lot to tell them.

* * *

Having senior staff members like Miss Munroe join them in Professor Xavier's study helped put Libby at ease. Thinking Logan set this up just for her made her uneasy. However she noticed that no matter where she sat Logan was always close by. The constant sound of the storm outside became a background noise.

Professor Xavier rolled into the study. "I beg your pardon," he said by way of announcing his presence. "Logan, have you seen Scott?"

Logan used his thumb to point over his shoulder. "Security. Him and Hank are tryin' to turn the security system back on using one of the generators."

"He and Hank," Libby whispered to herself. A low growling sound, so soft she could barely make it out, came from her right. Logan. Oh, what was wrong with that man? Was he incapable of appreciating proper grammar?

"Hmmm." Professor Xavier steepled his hands in his lap. "You all seem quite concerned with the potential for an attack this evening. Ororo, do you think you could help out? Perhaps lessening the storm's effects are the wrong way to go about this."

"Attack?" Perhaps she had not been paying close enough attention. "Did you say attack?"

Miss Munroe gave her a regal wave. "It is only a theory, Librarian. There is no need to concern yourself." Her gaze shifted to Professor Xavier. "What do you wish for me to do, Professor?"

"Perhaps strengthening the storm's effects around the school would be more appropriate," Professor Xavier replied.

Libby turned to Logan. "What attack, Logan?"

He made a face at her and ignored her question. "If they get the security cameras workin', we'll know if somebody tries to breach the perimeter," Logan told them. "Once they're closer, Storm c'n pump up the winds and catch 'em off-guard." The cigar sticking out one side of his mouth wobbled as he chewed on the end. "Then the rest of us c'n close in and take 'em."

"Excellent," Professor Xavier said with a nod to Logan. "I shall go speak with Scott and check on his progress. Be thinking of a back-up plan in case they are unable to make the cameras operational."

"Yes, sir." Logan's shoulders stiffened, similar to Dean when his father used a certain tone of voice.

That particular tone Libby was quite familiar with. It was a command tone. Interesting how Logan responded in almost the exact same manner. Of course, Dean's father raised him to be a warrior battling supernatural evils. Logan? Logan was a soldier, pure and simple. Libby wanted to relax, she felt more secure with this new knowledge, but the possibility of an imminent attack meant no sleep tonight. For anyone.

* * *

Tyler shivered in his thick parka. Ice covered everything, streets, plants, grass. His baby brother would have called it a winter wonderland, but that was before. He attempted to shake off the morose thoughts, focusing on the mission.

The Xavier Institute for the Gifted and Talented, aka mutant training facility, stood across the street. The mansion loomed out of the storm, soft flickering firelight from a few windows were silent beacons in these dark howling winds. Tyler followed Perry, using the large man to block the majority of the wind battering against him. Even with his face covered the biting cold seeped in. Ice built up on his eyelashes, threatening to seal his eyes closed. His hands were encased in gloves too thick to be of any use in peeling the ice away from his eyes. However, his index finger fit perfectly against the trigger of his weapon. A semi-automatic machine gun hung from his shoulder, ready for action. Assuming it wasn't frozen over when they reached the objective.

This had been planned as a two-prong assault. Peter, the mission leader, was in charge of the group who would be responsible for penetrating the mansion and completing the objective, abducting Xavier. Tyler's group was responsible for being a distraction and drawing fire. Gee, a dream come true, target practice for a mutant army.

According to The Boss, the honorable Reverend Stryker, even if they lost their lives if Xavier could be recovered it would be worth it. To help a self-proclaimed mutant leader see the light of Truth and Right had no price. So Tyler followed in Perry's footsteps, trying not to think about being shot as thin slivers of ice made their way under his collar, causing thin streams of ice water down his neck. Since Perry was excited about this mission Tyler figured it was a mistake. After all, Perry was an idiot.

The howl of the wind picked up in pitch and intensity. He could barely make out Perry's large form in front of him. What happened to that block's worth of visibility? Tyler faced in the direction the other team should be hitting the mansion. All he could see was the storm, massive, cold and pummeling everything in its path. This was no night to be outdoors, not even to face down the Mutant Menace.

Out of the storm ran the other half of their squad, Peter in the lead. One arm waved at them but they could not hear him over the howl of the wind. He ran up to them, needing to shout to be heard.

"It's a trap! Run!"

Tyler did not need to be told twice. He spun on one ice-covered boot and slid a foot to the side before landing on his ass. Damn it! Pushing himself off the slick ground, he saw a figure step out of the storm. He wore solid black from head to toe and where his eyes should be was a glowing red light, like some kind of demon. The demon-man lifted a hand to the side of his head, near the red light, and a pulse of red struck the ground beside Tyler leaving a smoking hole. With a yelp, he raced into the storm after his squad.

* * *

"Follow them," Summers ordered Logan, waving a hand at the armed men running into the storm. "I'll check the perimeter."

Logan waved a hand before disappearing into the swirling blackness. Ororo had certainly done a fine job of amping up the storm during the attack. Next time they could not count on the advantage of having a large natural storm to protect them. They would have to devise new means of detecting attacks when the power was compromised.

* * *

While Sam talked about his classes, professors, and the friends he had made in California, the color returned to Dean's face. His brother still looked like he had been indoors a lot lately, but at least he did not appear to be ill.

Sam felt amazingly relaxed now. He remembered there were times when he was a kid, usually after a particularly rough day of training, where he and Dean would sit up watching stupid movies and this same relaxed feeling would come over him. Not as overpowering as this, maybe, but he honestly couldn't be certain about it.

"I don't think you'll find a better time, Dad," Dean said with a knowing look.

Sam spun around on his ass to face their father. "What is it, Dad? It's not like you to avoid things."

Dad muttered under his breath, too low for Sam to make it out, but Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes. Next Dad took a deep breath, as if he needed to work up the nerve for what he needed to say.

"You know what Dean said about my condom lectures when you boys were growing up?" Dad finally asked.

Sam glanced over at Dean before shrugging. Yeah, he remembered those. How could he forget? Something-something-Disease and something-something-Kick Your Ass. Then again, most of Dad's lectures ended ominously. "What about it?"

Dad cleared his throat nervously. "I should have taken my own advice."

Sam stared at Dad, waiting for the next part. "Are you sick?" he asked hesitantly. If it was something really bad, like AIDS, Sam wasn't sure what he could do.

"Dude," Dean said, a light slap landing on the back of his head, "what is with you? Are you convinced everybody is sick?"

Huh. What did you know? Professor Melton was right about that one. Sam's worst fear was bad things, like disease and injury, happening to his family while he was away. Give the clueless doc a score of one.

Sam shrugged again at his brother. "If he's not sick, what could it be?"

Dean's eyes rolled all the way up to the ceiling and back to Sam. "Seriously? Sam, you're not that thick."

Um, okay. Okay, okay, he could figure this out. Condom lectures. Dad didn't take his own advice. Not sick.

Sam's attention snapped to his father. "You're kidding."

One side of Dad's mouth drew up in a sheepish half-smile. "His name is Adam."

"H-how?" Sam stammered as his brain desperately tried to catch up. Maybe if he wasn't feeling quite so relaxed it would be easier. It was almost like he was stoned.

"Sam, we had that talk," Dean told him. "I think you mean when. Adam is thirteen."

"Thirteen," Sam repeated to himself. "I have a younger brother?" Wait a second. This had possibilities! "I'm not the youngest?" he asked hopefully.

Dean's face landed in his open palm while Dad gave him this look that said 'are you sure we're related?'

Stupid panic pills. He must have taken too many today and made himself stoned. Oh, well. Sam chuckled at his family who were all giving him odd looks. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted!

* * *

It was difficult but Sam managed to force himself to remain awake while the others dropped off to sleep. He waited until all the breathing in the room was slow and steady, and in the case of Bobby, loud. When he was positive the others were sound asleep, Sam crawled out of his sleeping bag. Growing up in close quarters with his father and brother had taught him how to move almost silently. Since he turned fourteen he had been able to slip out of various motel and hotel rooms unnoticed by his family.

Now Sam crept to kneel beside his sleeping brother. Very, very slowly, because a startled Dean was a deadly Dean, he lowered his hand to his brother's chest. It was about damn time he saw for himself that Dean was as all right as everyone claimed. When his hand rested on the muscular chest, Sam began by closing his eyes and visualizing the flow of air in and out of Dean's lungs. Gentle up and down movements under his palm were reassuring. The air was pulled into the lungs then gently expelled.

Following the paths, Sam traced the air flow until he discovered an unfamiliar area in the left lower lung. Frowning he lingered behind the air moving in and out, examining the area. This must be where the damage had been, but whoever fixed it didn't know Dean very well. The enhanced oxygen capacity Sam had spent years developing was gone from this area and there was some residual scarring from the puncture. Then again, if it had collapsed, perhaps this was the most that could be accomplished in one visit. Dad had said it was an 'experimental' procedure. Yeah, someone experimenting on his brother!

The mellow euphoria from earlier faded as Sam checked the puncture site again. Scar tissue led from inside the lung up to the skin. With a heavy sigh, Sam realized no one had been exaggerating and his worst fear had been realized; Dean had been hurt badly enough to force him to quit hunting. If it were not for this mysterious Institute bringing in someone like Sam, because while this was clearly not his work that person definitely used the same technique, Dean would have been laid up for months.

His fingers warmed as he prepared to fix the inconsistencies here. Sam imagined energy flowing from his hand deep through Dean's skin and muscle, softening hardened scar tissue and encouraging it to act like normal tissue. The energy entered Dean's lower left lung to spread out, entering damaged cells and returning them to normal function, asking undamaged cells to perform their tasks more efficiently.

While the energy did its job Dean stirred slightly in his sleep. Sam had forgotten that the deeper he went the more likely it was for his brother to wake. He placed his other hand on Dean's shoulder and thought about how glad he was to be here, to see the amount of damage for himself, and to be able to fix it. Thinking about how grateful he was to be by his brother's side and helping with the injuries always seemed to work in settling Dean down. Sam never questioned it, they had always been like this. It was a relief to see there were still a few things unchanged by separation and time.


	63. Chapter 63: New Year's Part 4

Chapter 63: **New Year's – Part 4**

Libby woke, her back and shoulders sore from sleeping in an armchair all night. She sat up and stretched, noticing she was the only person left in the study. After sleeping so fitfully, her dreams punctuated with monsters from Dean's silly movies attacking the school over and over, she would never have guessed that she could sleep soundly enough for everyone to leave without waking her.

She folded up the blanket she had been using, leaving it in her chair. There was no telling when the power would be restored and it was pretty clear that Logan would not allow her to sleep in her room until it was. Libby headed upstairs for a quick shower and to fix her hair. Overnight her usual knot had pulled out causing quite a mess.

When she stepped out of her room, a man's voice shouted, "Hey!"

Libby turned around to see Logan walking towards her. "Good morning, Logan."

Logan scowled. Apparently this was his natural facial expression, she rarely saw him without it when Dean was not present. "I been lookin' for you. The Professor wants all-a the adults to eat with the kids. Somethin' about bein' normal."

"I have been looking for you," she corrected him, her brain working on automatic.

"Why?" he asked before she could excuse herself. "Ain't you got 'nuff trouble?"

Libby stood regarding him for a long moment before a slow smile spread across her face. "You are doing that on purpose, aren't you?"

"Ain't got no idea whatcher talkin' about," Logan stated defiantly, but he smiled as he said it. It was the first time she had seen him smile since Dean left the grounds.

"Now that one could give me a headache," Libby warned, turning to walk to the cafeteria. "How about, I have no idea of what you speak?"

"Huh?" Logan grunted, keeping pace with her down the stairs. "Sounds like a sissy to me."

"You have a point," she admitted. Grudgingly. "Why not, I have no idea what you mean?"

Logan grunted again as he shrugged. "I reckon it just ain't as much fun."

Libby shook her head, an unbidden grin coming to her lips. Ah, he was a worthy grammarial adversary indeed!

* * *

The sizzling of bacon and beckoning aroma of coffee penetrated Dean's sleep. Slowly, groggily, he opened his eyes. Bobby sat in one of the chairs by the fire staring into the flickering flames. He heard someone in the kitchen area and Dad's presence felt pretty strong right now, so he figured Dad must be cooking. Good. He could eat.

Dean sat up, rubbing at his sleep-bleary eyes with one hand. "Where's Sam?" he asked.

Bobby didn't look over. "John!" he snapped as irritation reached through the room with its prickliness and tangy flavor. "He's awake!"

Dad hurried from the stove, wiping his hands on a towel and giving the door a cautious glance as he passed. Next thing he knew Bobby was glaring at him while Dad hovered with that damned concerned look and oozed with worry.

"Could've brought coffee," Dean groused, standing. Dad reached out one hand to steady him, but it wasn't like he needed it. Dean shrugged off the helping hand to retrieve a cup of coffee. Returning with fortifications, he sat in the other chair by the fire. Dad and Bobby exchanged looks of confusion.

"What?" he demanded. "You two have been acting weird since last night. And where the hell are Sam and Jim?"

"Outside taking a walk," Dad said, one hand reaching out to grab him by the chin and tilt his face into the early morning sunshine streaming through ice-covered windows. "He's not even pale, Bobby."

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. "Why would I be?"

"Because of that stupid stunt you pulled last night, you idgit!" Bobby went from irritated to pissed in zero point nothing flat. The Indy 500 had nothing on him. "It's not like we could even call McCoy!"

Dean frowned, looking from one angry/worried face to the other angry/worried face. "You lost me," he admitted slowly. "What stunt?"

Dad's worry and anger faded, his brow furrowing as one hand came up to scratch at the heavy stubble on his cheek. "Dean? Did you or did you not stop Sam from having a panic attack?"

"What?" Dean snorted before taking a long sip of hot coffee. The smell of breakfast was killing him. "What are you talking about? Sam doesn't have panic attacks." He made a face until he realized they were both serious. "Does he?"

"He takes pills for them," Dad answered. "I watched him having one in the airport when I picked him up."

Dean glared. That whole deal had been Dad's idea and the man hadn't bothered to arrange any of it. "What! Are you telling me that because you couldn't be bothered to pick up the damn phone, you caused-"

One of Dad's hands flashed up, warning him to stop. "My fault," he insisted quickly. "But you did stop it last night, didn't you? I saw when Sam spotted your medic alert bracelet. You put one hand on your chest, like you could feel it starting, then you rolled your shoulders and your head. I've never seen the head roll too and I was positive you were going to pass out."

Dean frowned, rubbing one hand over his hair. "That part is kind of fuzzy," he had to admit.

Dad sighed heavily, a large hand landing on Dean's shoulder and giving it a strong squeeze. "It was the defensive thing, Bobby. Like McCoy thought. It was probably more for Dean than Sam or Jim."

"Jim?" His gaze darted between the two older men again. "What happened to Jim?"

Bobby snorted, arms crossing over his chest. "Well, either he was in the way, or you didn't want him worryin' about that damn alert thing either, because you blasted 'em both." He half-chuckled, shaking his head. "First time I ever saw that preacher stoned. It's a real good thing none of his 'flock' was around."

"He was in a good mood," Dean said slowly. "Are you sure I-"

"Yes," they both cut him off.

"Dean," Dad continued in a gentler tone, "I think maybe you need to talk to them separately. Jim already knows about mutants, so you can tell him as much as you want. Sammy?" He shrugged. "I guess whatever you think is best."

Dean could only blink in response. He snapped back to himself when hot coffee sloshed over the side of his cup burning his hand. "Crap!" he hissed, shifted the full cup to his other hand to shake off the burned one.

"I need to finish cooking," Dad said with another squeeze to his shoulder.

When Dad was out of earshot, Dean leaned close to Bobby. "You heard it too, right?" he whispered.

Bobby nodded. "Better run with it, boy," he hissed back.

"After breakfast," Dean decided. He doubted he could make it far from the cabin without food. That wouldn't exactly put Sammy in a good mood, as much as that kid worried.

* * *

"Failed!" William Stryker roared inside his personal chapel. The walls had been painted the purest white, the stained glass windows depicted The Virgin and were made of the clearest stained glass. His altar was covered with fine white linen and the single crucifix hanging suspended from the ceiling was cast from the purest bronze. He had ordered it all specially. No impurities could exist here in the most sacred of all places.

"Lord, why have you allowed this failure?" he demanded. "We are trying to do your work, to erase the demons who infect humanity." One fist slammed down, reverberating the kneeler with its blow. He breathed heavily, his heart racing in his chest.

At that moment the clouds outside his window broke, allowing a stream of sunlight in through the window. It struck the red glass below Mary's left arm and cast red light upon the crucifix. William studied it intently, knowing this was a sign.

"He saved my Purifiers," he breathed, his eyes narrowing on the light. "There would have been blood, theirs, had they not been turned away." Both hands gripped the top of the kneeler, knuckles turning white with exertion. "He will provide another way."

Calmer, he lowered his head to pray. Unseen and unheard by the leader of the anti-mutant movement, a darkness with stale yellow eyes watched him from the corner. It chuckled before sliding away under the door, a mist of pure evil slinking along dark crevasses and sliding through cracks until it could slip away unnoticed.

* * *

Sam ate a hearty breakfast, going back for seconds while Dean ate thirds. When he finished and had thrown his paper plate away, he announced to the room, "I'm going for a walk," secretly hoping his brother would find an excuse to come along. There were things Sam wanted to discuss without Dad around.

"Cool." Dean used a piece of toast to sop up the remains of his breakfast. "Mind if I come along?"

It seemed too easy. There was no pretense, no excuse, Dean just wanted to come.

"Yeah, sure," Sam tried hard not to stammer. Despite the letters and phone calls, Sam had still been expecting his family to have more issues about him choosing to go to school. And resentment. He had been expecting a whole lot of resentment.

Dean crammed the toast in his mouth as he tossed his empty plate at the trash can. It sailed in. Cheek bulging, Dean grabbed his jacket on the way out. Sam rushed to pull on his hoodie before shrugging into his jacket. Dean held the door for him.

"What do you want to talk about?" Dean asked as they walked away from the cabin. His brother headed for the dirt drive which led to the main road.

"Just stuff," Sam replied with a shrug.

"Dude, you didn't want to come out here to talk about 'stuff'. What's eating you?" Dean asked.

"The, uh, punctured lung," Sam began, pausing to chew on his lower lip for a moment. "It was pretty bad, huh?"

"I told you that," Dean pointed out. "But it's fine now." He took a deep breath of the icy morning air. "I don't think I've ever felt better in my life."

Sam had to grin to himself over that, knowing more about Dean's lung capacity than his brother did. "It's not that," he protested. "Why didn't you call me? When it happened?"

Dean stopped walking, frozen in his tracks. "What?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"When you were in the hospital? Why didn't you call me?" This was the real question that had been plaguing him since learning about the injury, he realized.

"Well," Dean said slowly, scratching at the back of his neck, "I couldn't." He shrugged. "I couldn't talk, could barely breathe. Once Logan drove me to an ER, they sedated me."

"Then how did Dad find out?" Sam demanded. "Someone would have had to call him, right?"

Dean shrugged and lowered his hand to stuff in his jacket pocket. "Logan."

"And this Logan person knew Dad's number how?" he pressed. It was killing him to know why he wasn't on the emergency contact list.

His brother sighed, kicking at the ground with one foot. "Sam, we were after a wendigo. I couldn't call in any backup, so I figured my chances of getting out of there in one piece were pretty slim. I showed him Dad's number in my phone and asked him to call if anything happened to me."

Crap! Crap, crap, crap, crap! It was because he left!! And why would Dean have anyone call him? He wasn't around. Hadn't been. Hadn't even bothered to freaking call!

"Stop it." Dean's voice was a low threatening growl. Sam blinked. His brother had one hand on his chest, the other balled into a fist. "I mean it, Sam. Keep it up and I will knock your ass out."

It was so wrong, so out of character, Sam could only stare in disbelief. However, he noticed that his chest felt better, the typical iron bands loosening and he could breathe normally. Dean appeared more relaxed now too.

"Nobody picks on my little brother," Dean said in a gentler voice with a shove to his chest, "not even my little brother."

Sam rolled his eyes. No way in hell was he going there. "I wish you'd called," he muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned away, heading towards the main road again. "Come on," he called out, an arm waving in a large circle for Sam to follow, "I want to see how bad the roads are. We might be stuck here for a few days."

Sam trudged along behind his brother until he was on the receiving end of one of Dean's 'knock the bitchiness off' looks. Then he hurried to walk beside his brother.

"So this kid," Sam began, deciding to change the subject before Dean came out swinging for real, "his name is Adam? Have you met him yet?"

Dean nodded, looking straight ahead. "He's a good kid. I think you'd like him, Sam. And his mother is one of the best damn cooks I've ever met."

Sam chuckled. That was such a typical Dean statement. "No wonder you like him."

Dean's shoulders relaxed and he glanced over before bumping into Sam's shoulder. Sam grinned as he bumped back. By the time they reached the road, they were in a full-out bump-and-shove match. Sam had nearly been successful in knocking Dean into a small tree a few feet back. Dean walked out in the middle of the road with a deep frown. He scuffed his boot across the slick surface a few times, shaking his head.

"I think we'll be staying a few days," he announced, walking and sliding back to Sam.

Sam shrugged. "School doesn't start back up for a week and I'm pretty sure the planes won't be taking off with this kind of weather anyway." Not entirely true, airports had de-icers made especially for this, but considering Dean drove everywhere he went his big brother might not know that. Besides, Sam was warming to the idea of hanging out here and having some extended family time. Last night had been great! He was not optimistic enough to believe every night would be like that, but nothing so far had been as bad as he had feared. Well, Dean had been hurt, pretty bad, but it had been repaired well beyond his expectations.

Repaired. Huh. That meant there was at least one other person capable of encouraging and speeding up the body's healing process. Funny, but Sam had never considered that there might be another person capable of doing it. It made sense, after all he could do it so it stood to reason that someone else had a knack for talking to other people's bodies the same way. Maybe because he spent all that time hiding it from his family, so they wouldn't depend on him too much and take bigger risks, that he had never pondered how or why he could do it.

"Tell me about this chick you're dating," Dean said, heading towards the cabin again. "Dad sent me some pictures." He tossed a wink at Sam. "Waaay out of your league, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes, falling in step with his brother. "Yeah, yeah. So how long have you had a girlfriend? A week? Two?"

Dean's grin was bright and his eyes sparkled like the early morning sunlight on the frozen world surrounding them. "Six."

"Days?" Sam guessed.

Dean's eyes rolled all around. "Dude, you are such a brat. Six weeks."

"Really," Sam muttered. Then he shrugged. It didn't matter. All it would take was for a hot chick to walk by him and Dean would be slobbering his way out of one 'relationship' into a another. "Jess and I have been dating for about two months."

"About?" Dean shook his head. "Better make sure so you don't forget an anniversary," he warned. "Chicks don't like it when you forget those kinds of things."

"Six weeks and you're an expert?" Sam teased.

The answering grin was amused and matched the glint in his eye. "Dude, when it comes to chicks, I have always been an expert."

Sam stepped far to his right, crashing into Dean's shoulder with at least half his weight, enough to make his brother stumble off the dirt road. Dean charged back at him. It was probably too much to hope for that kid Adam to be this much fun.

* * *

Bobby Drake glanced around the frozen landscape of his favorite dream wondering why he could not enjoy it. It was perfect, pure ice and snow untouched by heat or people. Part of him wanted to plunge face-first into the nearest snowdrift, but the rest of him felt uneasy and wary. He expected to see a dark storm on the horizon.

"Not today, champ." The voice came from behind him. It was a man's voice. The small hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms and legs stiffened, his muscles tensed and his mind raced with escape scenarios.

"Man, it's cold out here. I really don't understand what you see in it. I'm more of a fireplace kind of guy. You know: heat."

Bobby turned around slowly. A man stood behind him wearing a large coat with a fur lined hood. His hands were in gloves with matching fur around the cuffs. The man was rather ordinary looking, no features that would stand out in a crowd, a perfect face for blending in, except for one thing: his eyes. Those were the same nasty yellow eyes from Bobby's nightmares.

He shuffled back a step.

"Oh, relax, Bobby," the man said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm here to help you." He leaned toward Bobby and his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "To warn you."

"W-warn me?" Bobby stammered. "Why?" The word was out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about it. A better response would have been 'about what' not 'why'. Instinctively Bobby knew this thing, he could not bring himself to think of the creature with yellow eyes as a man, would never help him.

The yellow-eyed man-thing laughed, a deep resonant sound which caused a nasty chill down Bobby's spine. "I just love you mutants," he laughed. "So suspicious." He spun suddenly to one side, arms up to ward off an attack. When Bobby also reacted to the imaginary attacker, he laughed louder. "You see?"

Sliding easily backwards through the snow, as if it knew who and what he was, Bobby moved away from the intruder in his dream. In his dream. He looked around, confused. How could anyone, or anything, come into one of his dreams?

"You're wondering how I came here," the yellow-eyed creature said. "Locking all supernatural beings out of your school was very short-sighted. Not all of us are evil." He shrugged. "This was the only way to warn you about your mother."

A new chill, not the good kind, crept along Bobby's skin. "What about my mom?" he demanded. Would his icing powers work in a dream? Could he freeze this thing until he figured out what it was? Even if he could, would it unfreeze the second he woke up? Nervously, Bobby chewed at his lower lip.

"That's most people's weakness, their moms," it sighed, shaking its head. "It's really too bad you didn't tell her the truth when you were home over Christmas. I mean, I thought I sent you enough warnings."

"All those nightmares?" Bobby took a step forward, anger overriding sense. "That was you?"

"Of course it was me." It scoffed at him and its glowing yellow eyes rolled. "Who else? Listen up, Champ. If you can't stop what's going to happen, she'll be dead in less than a week." It checked the watch on its wrist. "Midnight in exactly six days, Dearest Mommy will give the Human Torch a run for his money." Then it smiled and a shudder ripped through Bobby while fear squeezed his heart until it throbbed painfully. "Later, kid." It gave him a salute using only two fingers before turning around and disappearing into cloud of steam. "Better hurry." The words lingered behind in the steam.

Bobby woke wide-eyed, gasping for air, drenched in cold sweat, and with the knowledge that he would have to go back home. Now.

* * *

Kitty Pryde went where she wanted when she wanted. Okay, all right, so it was an abuse of her abilities. So what? What was the point in having them if she didn't use them? Besides, the only people who could catch her were Professor Xavier, Miss Gray, and Logan. The only time one of the others caught her was when she screwed up, which was more often than she liked to admit.

Lately she had been hearing an awful lot about this Reverend Stryker and his television ministry. She could not imagine what kind of person could confuse a message of love with such obvious hatred and discrimination. No one she would ever want to meet, that was for sure.

Last night a bunch of the adults, Mister Summers, Logan, Mister Wagner, Miss Munroe, and some others went outside during the storm. Outside! She could see Bobby Drake enjoying an ice storm but that was about it. When they came back in, Mister Wagner was limping, somebody she didn't know had a head wound and another adult she did not recognize had been holding his arm like it was broken. Something really bad had happened outside. Next time she saw a group like that go out together Kitty thought she might follow. She could help.

So distracted by her thoughts, Kitty ran into someone coming down the stairs.

"Oh, sorry," she blurted, looking up at a guilt-stricken Bobby Drake. "What's wrong with you?"

"Uh, nothing," he insisted, pressing by. He wore regular clothes but a backpack hung from one shoulder and it looked full.

"There aren't any classes today," Kitty reminded her friend, turning around on the stairs to watch him.

Bobby paused, looking at her over his shoulder. "I have to go home," he whispered. "Don't tell anyone."

"How?" Kitty demanded. "Everything outside is frozen solid!"

Bobby flashed her a wide grin. Okay, all right, it was his kind of weather. So what? "You're going to skate the whole way home?"

He shrugged. "It won't stay like this forever. I'm sure I can hitch a ride or two."

"Sounds dangerous," she said uneasily. "I don't like it, Bobby."

"Maybe it is stupid," he admitted, much to her surprise, "but trust me, I have to do this. When the phones are working again I'll call, okay?"

He turned away before she could argue some sense into him. Disgusted, Kitty walked slowly up the stairs. Logan. She should tell Logan. Not all guys were as stupid as Bobby Drake. Fortunately.


	64. Chapter 64: Runaway

Chapter 64: **Runaway**

Bobby found a cool spot in a public park to rest. Kitty was right, he couldn't possibly skate the whole way home. He was tired, his legs and lower back ached, and he was hungry. At the moment he could take care of one of those things. He could sleep. There was one nice thing about this trip, the weather was perfect. It was freezing cold and the ice had remained on the roads, sidewalks and over every square inch of ground he had found so far. Most of the time Bobby hadn't even needed to create his usual ice-slide to go where he wanted. If only it could stay like this!

Slinging an arm over his eyes to blot out the sun, Bobby tried to sleep despite his protesting stomach. He had a little cash on him, but with the power out no restaurants or fast food places were open. He really should have snagged a couple more sandwiches from the cafeteria before he left.

* * *

Tyler squirmed on the hard wooden bench unable to find a way to sit comfortably until his team lead, Peter, nudged his shoulder from the row behind. It was time.

Forcing himself not to move with the exception of breathing, Tyler watched the front raptly. Reverend Stryker himself would be addressing them. It was warm in here, the studio had its own backup power generator.

"I have had a vision!" The voice was inhumanly large, reverberating in the television chapel where the famed televangelist broadcasted from every weekend. Tyler's eyes darted from side to side, anxious to be the first to spot their spiritual leader.

Reverend Stryker, the man himself, stepped out on to his stage. How unfortunate it would be considered unseemly for Tyler to ask for an autograph.

"Last night, an angel came to me in a dream..." the voice boomed, slowly decreasing to normal levels. "This angel said unto me that a demon, disguised as a boy, would soon come to us. This demon shall escape from the Xavier Institute, the training grounds of a mutant demon army, and will walk right into our hands." Reverend Stryker paused dramatically.

"How? Why? These are the questions you ask yourselves, but they are not the proper questions. The Lord will provide. He will deliver this demon so that we may question it, learn its secrets," a fist punctuated each point, "discover the nature of its demonic abilities and how to ward ourselves against them!"

One of the screens behind Reverend Stryker flashed before glowing with a gentle blue light. The image of a boy appeared on the screen, a teen with short hair, not scrawny but not exactly linebacker material either. He reminded Tyler of his little brother.

Tyler forced the thoughts away, focusing on the here and now, on people who mattered because they were still living, because they could be saved.

"His name is Bobby Drake," Stryker continued, "and it is imperative that he be taken alive. Distribute this image to our other units."

"Unharmed, Reverend?" Peter asked from the row behind him.

Reverend Stryker's lips curled up in a small smile that make Tyler a little uneasy. "Do what must be done, as long as he is taken alive."

* * *

Where the heck was Logan? Kitty peered into room after room of the mansion. Logan was not in any of the rec rooms, kitchens, cafeteria, Professor Xavier's office, gym – student or teacher, Danger Room (which she wasn't supposed to know about), security office, or any of the dorm rooms. Now she continued her search in the teacher's wing.

This portion of her unauthorized tour was interesting. If she weren't so worried about that idiot Bobby Drake, Kitty could enjoy peeping into the teacher's rooms. Logan's room was totally bare except for a black and white poster of some girl posing with a plane old enough to have been new in one of the world wars. Maybe all guys were idiots after all. She pulled her head through his door in time to hear another door open. But all of the grownups were supposed to be either downstairs or in the rec rooms. Logan?

Hoping for the best, Kitty held her breath and waited. A door at the far end of the hall swung open, Logan and The Librarian walking out. Wow. The rumors were true. The Librarian could exist outside the school library, almost like a real person.

"Really, the ant one?" The Librarian asked. "I think I prefer the one with the swamp monster. It has more plot."

"Plot?" Logan snorted. "What plot? Don't pollute?"

"Perhaps it is more of a theme," The Librarian replied with a laugh. The Librarian could laugh? And since when had she been able to talk above a whisper?

"Kitty!" Logan snapped, spotting her. "What are you doin' up here? Students ain't allowed."

"Aren't allowed," The Librarian added.

Logan rolled his eyes, turning to glare. "You mind? Two minutes?"

The Librarian held up both hands in surrender and walked away. "I'll meet you downstairs in the study."

Kitty walked up to one of her favorite people on earth. "Please tell me you are not dating that!" she hissed, careful to keep her voice down.

Logan waved her back with a frown. He listened intently for a minute, presumably until The Librarian was safely downstairs.

"Are you crazy?" he demanded. "I ain't that lonely. Now what the heck are you doin' in the teacher's wing?"

"Looking for you," she told him honestly. "I don't suppose you've seen Bobby lately?"

Logan frowned and scratched at his chin. "Now that you mention it, no. Why? Is that brat upta sumthin'?"

Kitty threw her arms out in exasperation. "He said he had to go home! In this weather!"

"Home?" Logan frowned. "You sure you didn't dream this? That kid couldn't wait ta come back."

"He said he would call when the phones are working again," she told the most trustworthy adult she knew. "I didn't know what to do! I've been looking for you for hours!"

"C'mon," he said, spinning her around to face the stairs. "We need to talk ta The Professor. He'll know what to do."

* * *

"At the moment an attempt to recover Bobby Drake would be foolhardy," Charles Xavier announced. "The roads are too slick and we need everyone on hand to protect the school in case of another attack." He sighed heavily as Kitty's and Logan's worried thoughts blasted through the room. "Please bear in mind, this is the perfect weather for Bobby. He is undoubtedly more uncomfortable in his own bed than outdoors at this very moment. It is impossible for him to suffer ill-effects from cold exposure."

The twin looks of disappointment were almost too much to bear. "I promise we will go after Bobby," he told Kitty gently. "We know where he is headed. It's a start. I'll call the Drakes and warn them that their son may show up unexpectedly. In the meantime, I will attempt to track young Bobby's progress."

"How?" Kitty asked, demand in her voice and posture. When she grew up a little, she would make an excellent addition to the team.

"I have my ways. Now I believe it is dinner time. Why don't you go on to the cafeteria, Kitty, while I speak with Logan for a moment?" Charles ushered her out the door, Kitty protesting most of the way.

He waited a moment, scanning the hall outside his office, before nodding to Logan that it was safe. "What do you think, Logan?"

Logan shrugged. "Can't imagine why he'd suddenly want ta leave. He couldn't wait ta come back."

"My thoughts precisely," Charles replied. "An event, one of which we have no knowledge, must have transpired."

"You mean sumthin' happened?" Logan asked.

"Exactly. I will be with Cerebro. In addition to searching for Bobby's unique mutant signature, I will have Cerebro analyze the energy signatures of the entire school for the last twenty-four hours." His fingertips tapped on the arm of his wheelchair. "There must be an explanation for this."

Logan frowned. "Uh, Professor? This might be a stupid question, but how is Cerebro gonna work when we don't have power?"

"Cerebro does not run off of the city power grid like the rest of the school," Charles replied. "He has a dedicated power plant approximately the size of this room."

"How much of that power does it need?" Logan asked. The man clearly had a reason behind the question.

"Why, Logan?" he asked in reply.

"'cause if it don't need all that power, we could run the security systems off it," Logan suggested.

Charles felt like slamming his head in the nearest door. Occasionally it was the simple, clear answers which were so elusive. "An excellent observation. I'll look into it right away. Thank you, Logan."

"One more thing, Professor," Logan said. "Who are ya sendin' out after the Drake brat? Normally I would figure on you sendin' just me."

"But these are not normal times," Charles replied sternly, not wanting Logan to strike out on his own. "I would prefer for no mutant to leave the grounds alone with those unknown attackers out there, not even you, Logan. I will make my decision after consulting with Cerebro."

Logan nodded. "I'll be in the study."

* * *

Sam scooped up his winnings from the midday poker game feeling comfortable and relaxed. It felt like all this time he had been away from his family that he had fallen more and more out of whack. Emotionally, that was. Now that he had spent some time with them, Sam felt as if someone had pressed a reset button, restoring him to factory defaults, perfectly in balance. The bottle of pills in his bag were usually at the back of his mind, but knowing where they were was no longer a priority.

"Oh, that's nuthin'," Bobby exclaimed to Jim. "You shoulda seen the time Sam decided he was gonna have 'friends' over to watch a movie and made Dean rent -"

"All right, all right," Sam interrupted, tossing one of his winning chips in Bobby's face. "Consider that a pay-off."

Bobby snorted at him. "A nickle?" he demanded, holding up the red chip. "Think again, boy." He turned to Jim again. "Like I was sayin'..."

"As I was saying," Dean said, standing. "Anybody want a snack? I'm starved."

Sam gave his brother a curious look. "Dude, what is with the constant eating? I don't think I've seen your mouth empty since we arrived."

In answer Dean leaned over to breathe open-mouthed in Sam's face, proving it was empty. Eeewww! Sam waved away the pizza-garlic stench. "How about some breath mints?" he suggested.

As Dean walked away from them, Bobby pointed at his back. "Did he really just correct my grammar? Jim, we need to find Dean a new girlfriend."

"Wait a week," Sam put in before Jim could respond.

"Actually, I am considering making a trip to his school to meet her. Libby, isn't it?" Jim said pleasantly.

"The school. Oh, that reminds me!" Sam searched the face of each man at the table. "What exactly is the threat to that school?"

"Demon," Dad replied with a hard face. "Why?"

"What kind of demon?" Sam asked. "I heard a, well, a kind of rumor over the holidays. You might want to look into it."

"Hang on!" Dean called from the kitchen. "I want to hear this."

Sam discovered he could wait patiently while his brother slapped a huge sandwich together. Dean rushed back with his overflowing sandwich to rejoin them at the table. "Go ahead," he said as he sat, "I'm good."

"Don't laugh, okay?" Sam warned. "Jess' parents actually believe this. Apparently there is a movement, probably just hysteria but there might be something real behind it, about mutants."

Dean froze in mid-chew, Dad's face went totally blank, Jim looked like he might be sick, and Bobby gave him the strangest look.

"Did you say 'mutant'?" Bobby demanded, sounding a little ticked off. "What do you mean by that?"

Sam shrugged, the extreme reactions rather disturbing. "Well, from the way they describe it, these mutants sound more like demonic possessions."

"'ow oo oh?" Dean asked through a full mouth.

"Dude, you mind?" Sam demanded, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

Dean rolled his eyes as he chewed hastily and swallowed. "How do you know?" he asked when his mouth was relatively empty.

"Since you had plans for Christmas, I went to meet Jess' parents," Sam explained. "One afternoon while I was there her father took me aside and asked me if I knew about the Mutant Threat. From his description, I figured it was just an urban legend, but as serious as they are about it, I thought maybe one of you would want to look into it."

"I have," Dad replied in a heavy, serious tone. "There isn't a mutant threat." His jaw clenched tightly and he seemed kind of pissed. One hand slapped hard on the table, knocking over everyone's poker chips. "Her parents are idiots."

"Dad," Dean said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. His left shoulder rolled backwards slowly.

Dad shot Dean a hard look. "Stop it," he growled. Then the hard expression gentled and his eyes rolled as if they had all been joking. "They're still idiots," he mumbled.

Dean chuckled. "Guess who's not going to be invited for Christmas next year?"

"You either," Dad snapped, but there was less fire in his tone. He pointed a finger at Dean. "I mean it."

Dean chuckled again and winked at Dad. "Don't worry about that so-called mutant threat, Sam. It's covered."

"How?" Sam asked, glancing around at the enigmatic faces. Once upon a time Sam had prided himself on being able to decipher every glance, the subtlest nuances in the expressions of these four men. Now he was clueless. It had only been a year! What happened?

Out of practice, he realized before the steel bands could return. He was just out of practice. That was all. A little more time together, over the summer, and he would have his knack back.

Sam forced a smile to his face. "Okay," he relented. "Okay, I'll take your word for it. Whose deal is it?"

Then Dad did the strangest thing. He turned to Dean to ask, "Is he feeling all right?"

Dean took a large bite of sandwich and nodded.

"Uh, Dad?" Sam waved a hand at his father. "Right here."

Dad ignored him, picking up the cards. He shuffled the well worn deck.

"So are we meeting back here this summer?" Sam asked as the cards sailed across the table for a new hand. "Or is anyone interested in visiting sunny California?"

Once again he was on the receiving end of four puzzled expressions. What was wrong with them?

* * *

Tyler's digital alarm clock flashed on twice. He held his breath, hoping. Come on, he pleaded silently with the wall socket, come on. It flickered on twice more before holding steady. Yes!

He bolted from his quarters to the communications room. From here Tyler had the assignment to distribute the mutant's picture to other Purifier compounds and the like-minded groups on his list. First he punched in the codes for the other compounds before sending the image to Purifiers and the 'approved' groups. Next he printed it out, black and white, to fax to the groups on their 'tolerated' communications list. This could take a while.

Tyler pulled up a chair to wait. He had to check every fax receipt before his assignment could be considered complete. One day Purifiers like him would be respected and revered. He had plans to write a book when that day came. Well, Tyler figured at least there would be writers hounding him for his biography and then he would be able to tell the whole sad story of how he had been saved by the Purifiers and chosen to join them. He shifted in and out of his daydreams as the fax receipts sputtered off the machine intermittently.

* * *

Jake 'Bull' Jones, called Bull because he was big and a touch stubborn, heard his fax machine whirr to life. Curious, because usually he was sent faxes only from Stryker's compound, Bull left his empty bar to check the office. His office was a small room, a converted utility closet, next to the bar. There was a filing cabinet pushed against the far wall with a gray fax machine gathering dust on top of it. A phone hung on the wall next to a two year old calendar of his favorite Playboy bunny dressed as a waitress with those bunny ears on top of her head. He smiled at the image as he reached for the page sticking out of the front of his fax.

A boy's face was at the top of the page, good lookin' kid, short hair. Bull read the description of the runaway and held his breath when he reached the part about the kid being a mutant. A real, live mutant, and he could be headed their way.

Excitement racing, causing the blood in his veins to pick up speed, Bull rushed for the phone. He was the lead communications officer for their group. All it took was three phone calls to set up a meeting for tonight in his bar. Still smiling, Bull returned to his office to make a dozen copies of the boy's picture. The others would need them if they were going to catch this dirty mutant.

* * *

Bobby's growling stomach woke him. With a sigh he sat up. The winter sunshine was cold and bright. This should have been the perfect day, if he hadn't been on a real life-or-death mission. Damn it.

Bobby pushed off the ground, his legs and back complaining more bitterly than his stomach. There was no way he could make it the whole way on foot, not even by skating. Sighing heavily he shouldered his backpack, which had been weighing more with every step, and set off in the direction of his hometown. As he walked out of the park Bobby noticed a city truck driving slowly down the road scattering salt behind it. It was not as quiet now as it had been earlier. There were a few cars out and about, driving slowly over the icy roads.

A neon sign flashing the word 'OPEN' caught his eye. Yes! Food! Bobby made a bee-line for an open sandwich shop. Hopefully they would have some ice-day specials to stretch what little money he had in his pocket.

* * *

Sprawled on the floor near the fire, Dean munched on a snack while he listened to Bobby's latest idiot customer story. Most of Bobby's customers were regulars, trusted to the point they could walk into the salvage yard when he was out on a hunt, take what they needed, and leave him with a list of parts taken and a check. However, since he was listed in the phone book, he had people who would call looking for specific parts. Often these people were not with auto shops, they were individuals working on a project car and typically fit Bobby's definition of an idiot. Then again, Dean often fit that description himself.

He chuckled over Bobby's recreation of the phone call and exchanged a knowing glance with Sammy. Man, this was a great weekend! As Bobby launched into a full blown tirade over idiot amateurs who didn't know enough to read the damn manual, his cell went off.

Shocked, Dean sat bolt upright to wrestle his cell out of his pocket.

"Guess the cell towers are working," Dad commented, pulling out his cell as well.

Dean snapped his open to accept the call from the Institute. "Yeah?" he asked, pressing it up to his ear.

"Hey, kid," Logan's gruff voice was a welcome sound. "Got good news and bad news. Which do ya want first?"

It was always something, wasn't it? Dean sighed. "Good news."

"We got power and your librarian girlfriend ain't a total pain in the ass, just mostly," Logan replied.

Dean rolled his eyes, pushing up to sit on the hearth. "And the bad news?" He ran a hand over his head to grip the back of his neck. Why was there always bad news?

Silence fell over the room as the tension rose.

"That brat punk Bobby Drake took off," Logan said. "According to Kitty, he's headed for home."

Dean squeezed the back of his neck with his hand and slammed his eyelids closed. "Who's gone after him?"

"Nobody," Logan grunted. "The Professor decided it was too dangerous in this weather. I reckon by the time you manage to get your scrawny ass back here, the roads'll be clear."

"Tell me I'm on the recovery team," Dean demanded. "Hank can cover Myths and Legends while I'm gone."

Dad cleared his throat loudly, shooting him a strong long. Dean covered the mouthpiece of his cell with one hand. "Didn't want to volunteer you," he whispered.

Dad glared and a fresh wave of irritation rolled over the room. Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine," he hissed. He pointed a finger at his father. "But you're following my curriculum. No winging it."

Dad made a bitter face and waved him off.

"You done arguing with your pop yet?" Logan demanded.

"Yeah, we're done," Dean replied, wondering how the hell Logan could do that. No way could he hear them this far away. "Now tell me about the recovery team."

"I'll know when the Professor tells us," Logan said. "He wants you here as soon as the roads are passable."

"In other words, get my ass on the road," Dean guessed.

"You said it," Logan replied. "See ya tonight, kid."

"Yeah." Dean sighed and closed his cell. He looked at the disappointed faces in the room. "Damn."

* * *

Bobby Drake climbed into the passenger seat of a an eighteen wheeler cab. He had always wanted to ride in one of these. This was too cool!

"You're headed for home," Carl the truck driver asked again.

"Yeah," Bobby assured him. "My mom's real sick. I'm afraid..." He couldn't continue. Not because it was a lie, but because he really was afraid of what might happen to his mom. What would happen if he didn't make it there in time.

"Relax, Bobby," Carl said as the huge motor of the truck came to life with a jerk and a roar. "I can take you as far as the city limits. You're sure your father can pick you up from there?"

"Yeah, no problem," Bobby lied. Carl liked the heat up, but Bobby could put up with it for a free ride. The tricky part would be convincing Carl to drop him off somewhere close enough to the house to skate home and far enough not to give away the fact he'd lied. Well, half-lied. He had to go home and protect his mom. They were going to burn her, huh? He'd like to see what kind of fire could burn through one of his ice-walls. There wasn't anyone who could protect her better from fire. No one. Bobby kept telling himself that as the big rig headed for the open roads.


	65. Chapter 65: Captured

As a kind reviewer pointed out – I screwed up in the last two chapters. Xavier and Kitty both made references to the Purifiers although neither of them should know the name of the group or its association with Stryker. My mistake! I've edited the chapters to remove those references and now I must ask you to edit your minds. The reveal of the Purifiers to the X-Men won't happen for at least five or six more chapters. Sometimes I write the chapters out of order, and when that happens I can lose my place. My fault! This is what happens when you work without an editor. Or a net!

* * *

Chapter 65: **Captured**

The Impala fishtailed as Dean turned into the icy drive of the Xavier Institute. Once on the grounds, the air warmed and the thick ice covering all of the other roads thinned away into nothing by the time he reached the garage. He parked in his usual space next to Logan's motorcycle.

Logan and Banshee, Sean, stood waiting for him. Sean had both hands over his ears until Dean cut the engine. When he stepped out of the car, he noticed Banshee wore a bandage on his forehead.

"What happened to you?" Dean asked as he pulled his duffel out of the backseat, glad the man wasn't bitching about how 'loud' the Impala was. Wimp.

Sean glanced at Logan. "Ye didna tell 'im?"

Logan grunted, taking his cigar out of his mouth. "I been busy."

"Tell me what?" Dean shouldered his duffel.

"We was attacked durin' the storm," Logan replied with a grunt. "Still don't know who was behind it."

"Oh, that's great." He narrowed his gaze on Logan. "Any news on Bobby Drake?"

"The Professor's tracking him now," Logan told him. "Said for you to come see him."

Dean nodded, heading for the tunnel leading underneath the mansion. Sean and Logan fell in step beside him.

"How'd anybody get that close?" he asked Sean, eying the bandage. "Was he totally deaf?"

Banshee grimaced. "Screamin' inta a blizzard isn't 'zactly easy. Logan says I'll be needin' more combat trainin', but I'm not good enough for 'is class."

It was pretty obvious where this was heading. "Lo-gan," he growled.

Smugness rolled off his friend. "Don't wanna see him killed, do ya?" Logan grunted, sticking his chewing cigar back in his mouth. "And he ain't the only one who needs a remedial class."

He sighed, running a hand down his face. This might have been easier with a little more sleep. "Jim and Bobby are taking Sam to the airport. Dad is coming to take over Myths and Legends, assuming Xavier sends me with the recovery team. Anything else will have to wait."

"Like that laundry," Logan said with a disgusted look on his face. "Pretty ripe, kid."

"Shut up," he sighed wearily.

* * *

Bobby woke with a start. The closer they came to his hometown, the stronger and more vivid the nightmares of fire were. Sweat covered his upper body causing his shirt to cling to his torso and his hair to feel wet.

"Go ahead and open the window," Carl the friendly trucker suggested. "It'll help wake you up, too."

Bobby rolled down the window and took heaping gulps of the frigid air. That was better. Calmer, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the wintery rush over his skin. He sat there with the wonderful coldness until Carl said something about freezing his ass off. Reluctantly, Bobby rolled the window up.

"Where are we?" he asked, wondering if Carl would mind it if he left the window open a crack, just enough to keep it comfortably cool.

"Right smack in the middle of bum-fu-uh, um, I mean the middle of nowhere," Carl replied. "We'll have to stop for the night in a couple of hours. There's a good rest stop about an hour out."

"Stop?" he asked. "We can't drive on through?"

"Nope." Carl shrugged. "We're only allowed to be on the road for so many hours, kid. Sorry. If you're in that much of a hurry, I can see if there's anyone heading the same way who won't mind a passenger."

Relieved, Bobby's head bobbed in agreement. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

Carl grinned as he picked up the radio handset. Bobby listened intently, fascinated by 'trucker talk', while Carl made arrangements for another truck to pick him up from the rest stop. It sounded like he would only have to wait a couple of hours for his next ride.

"Thanks, Carl," Bobby said as the trucker hung up the radio handset. "This really means a lot to me."

Carl grinned. "Hey, happy to be of help, Bobby. I hope your mother is going to be all right."

"Me too," Bobby replied, his gaze drifting out the window to the beautiful frozen scenery as a heaviness fell over his heart. "Me too."

* * *

Sean made an excuse about needing to check in with Summers before heading up to ground level. Leaving his duffel in the outer hall, Dean followed Logan into a huge room under the mansion. A single walkway, like a bridge, stretched from the doorway to the center of the room where Professor Xavier sat wearing a silver helmet. Dean walked quietly, following Logan's lead. They stood behind Xavier for several minutes waiting silently. Finally the Professor sighed and removed the silver helmet.

"Gentlemen," he said without turning around, "thank you for coming." Xavier set the helmet on the huge computer console he faced. His chair spun in place to face them. "Logan, have you had the opportunity to fill in Hunter?"

Logan shook his head. "Just mentioned the attack and that the Drake punk took off."

"Young Bobby's disappearance is most untimely," Xavier said with a sigh. "For it to happen the day after the attack on the school..." He shook his head, his long fingers entwining in his lap. "However, Cerebro has found his unique energy signature and it does appear to be heading for Bobby's hometown, so Kitty's assertion that he is returning home seems well founded."

Why couldn't this guy ever come out and say what he meant? Like a normal person. Dean had to restrain the inappropriate laugh threatening to erupt. Did he really just compare Xavier to 'normal'? He had to be losing his mind.

"What about the attack?" Dean asked. "Any idea who was behind it?"

"None." The Professor massaged one temple with his slender fingers. "There appears to be no reason for the attack or Bobby Drake's sudden departure, yet both happened within the same twenty-four hour

period. It is most concerning." He nodded at Dean. "Therefore I would like for you, Logan and Cyclops to track down Bobby Drake. This attack has convinced me that it is far too dangerous for any mutant to travel alone. I have recalled some of our other teams as reinforcements for the mansion while you three are away." Xavier motioned to the door. "Why don't you grab something to eat and a few hours of sleep, Hunter? As soon as Scott declares the security system is running reliably off Cerebro's main power, I'm certain he will be ready to leave."

Dean exchanged a weary look with Logan. On a mission with the team leader. Joy.

"We're taking my car," he stated boldly, to which Xavier shrugged.

"That will be between you two and Cyclops," he replied. "Now I have quite a bit of work to do, if you will excuse me."

Dean walked out with Logan wondering how the heck they were supposed to find one kid in a city of over a hundred thousand people.

"What are we supposed to do, wait at his house until Bobby decides to show up?" he asked as they headed for the living quarters in the mansion.

"I guess it's about time I showed you a few of my tricks, kid." Logan tossed him a wink before sniffing the air. "Smells like your supper's ready. Libby mentioned something about havin' enough steak to satisfy even the human bottomless pit."

"Oh, hell," Dean muttered, adjusting the duffel strap on his shoulder. "I'm supposed to take her out Saturday night."

"I got a feelin' she'll take a rain-check," Logan replied with a slap to his shoulder. "I'm gonna go check on Summers. Don't expect more than a couple-a hours."

Dean nodded as Logan peeled of to head for the stairs to the ground floor. "Kid!" he called without turning around. "If we're bein' watched, I'd rather leave at night anyway!"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, highly disappointed over only being back for a couple of a hours. Damn, what would Libby think? Fully prepared for her to be totally pissed off, Dean headed for her door. This was it, he thought glumly. Now she would start to see how much of a pain in the ass dating him would be. Frigging great. It started out such a good week, too.

He stood in front of her door for a good ten minutes before he could raise his fist. Even then he couldn't knock, he just stood there like a moron with his hand in the air. From inside soft humming, slightly off-key, could be heard with the usual noises of someone cooking. If that smell was anything to go by Libby had a full evening planned. Crap! Just when he had been starting to think this dating one gal thing was the way to go, bam! Reality came crashing down.

The door swung open and Dean still stood with one fist in the air. Libby jumped back, startled. "Oh! You're here!" Then she was jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck.

Swept away by a tidal wave of happiness, Dean used his free arm to hold her tight as he walked them inside. He kicked the door closed behind them before leaning in to his waiting welcome-back kiss, which was really more of a 'temporary visit' kiss only she didn't know it yet. When Libby broke away, Dean set her on her feet.

"How was it?" she asked excitedly. "Did you have a good visit with your brother?"

"Uh, yeah," he replied slowly, dropping his duffel on the floor by her door.

Libby frowned at him. "You don't sound very happy about it. Why are you back early? Because of the attack on the school or one of the kids running away?"

"Second one," he said with a sigh. "Logan, Summers and I have been assigned to the retrieval team."

She scowled. "You make the poor boy sound like a missing terrier." Both hands went to her hips and she fixed him with a hard stare. "When do you leave?"

A thousand excuses flooded his mind but this was one relationship he wanted to be honest. "Logan said we're probably leaving in a couple of hours."

Her fingers tapped rapidly against her hips and her face twisted into a calculating, thoughtful expression. She was weighing her options, not a hint of irritation or aggravation.

"So either I can send you off exhausted with a to-go plate and a huge smile, or you can prop your feet up, eat, and I can wash your clothes while you're relaxing." He opened his mouth to voice his vote for, obviously, the first option, when Libby pointed to the couch. "Sit down."

Dean opened his mouth again but she cut him off before he could squeeze out a word. "And no, you don't get a vote. Go sit, take your boots off and prop your feet up. That swamp monster movie is in and ready to go. I'll fix your first plate before I go put your clothes on to wash. It's a good thing everything you own is dark, I'll be able to throw them all in together."

Rather stunned, this reaction being pretty much the last damn thing he would expect, Dean stood there staring dumbly as Libby returned to her kitchenette.

She placed two steaks on a plate alongside some vegetables he might or might not eat. Libby's head snapped up from preparing his plate to glare at him. "Are you going to waste what little time you have at home staring at me?"

"Uh, I was just going to ask what it would take to get the first option?" he asked hopefully, not really understanding what was happening here.

Libby shook her head, picking up his plate and a large glass of juice. "Not happening, Winchester. There is no way I'm letting you leave here starving, worn out, and smelling like you spent the last week in the woods. Go on." She nodded at the couch.

Feeling like a kid being told what to do by an authority figure, Dean dragged his feet as he walked to the couch. Reluctantly he sat down and Libby handed him his plate. Instantly the delicious aroma assaulted his senses and the food demanded to be eaten. What could he do? He was helpless.

"Back in five minutes," she promised, dragging his duffel out the door. Libby pointed one finger at him as he turned to protest. "Shut it. Five minutes."

Shut it? Maybe he should check for demonic possession when she came back. Dean picked up the remote and turned on the movie, fast-forwarding through the intro credits.

* * *

Bobby eyed the trucker driving silently towards town. This guy's name was Weasel, not exactly a confidence builder. With Carl he had been relaxed enough to nap. Not with Weasel. All of the little hairs on the back of his neck and along his upper arms were stiff and tingly. Bobby had a lie ready the first time he saw a likely spot to be dropped off. He had one hand in his jacket pocket, the small vial of Holy Water clutched in his fist. Every fiber of his being told him to get the hell out of this truck, but he wasn't close enough to town yet. He had to wait, just a little longer.

What would Professor Hunter do in his situation? Ha! That was a joke. Professor Hunter would never be in his situation! His favorite teacher owned a car. Maybe this summer he could pick up a job and buy his own car? Now that idea had possibilities.

Weasel was quiet, his only redeeming factor. He wasn't a big man, rather scrawny and missing most of his teeth. His clothes were worn and the smell of mildew and rotting food clung to the air in the cab. Riding with Carl had been the Ritz compared with this. His hand stuck to a spot on the seat. Bobby hoped to never figure out why. He pulled it away roughly leaving several layers of skin on the vinyl. This wasn't as bad as his worst nightmare, but it pulled a close second.

* * *

Libby slammed the washer lid down harshly, taking out her frustrations on the machine. She had to be back in control before returning to her room and her boyfriend. Having an empath for a boyfriend meant he always knew exactly how she felt, what annoyed and aggravated her, and made it almost impossible to lie. Almost.

As hot water rushed to soak Dean's clothes, Libby breathed deeply and closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds of the water. She should think of herself as fortunate to see him even if it was only for a couple of hours. Damn it. How the hell had her mother been able to put up with this kind of crap for forty years?

With a smile. Her mother put up with the hectic schedules, sudden and unexpected departures, her father's emotional outbursts and irrationality, all with a smile. For years Libby had been trying not to be anything like her mother and now here she was wishing she knew her mother's secrets to keeping a calm composure. Maybe it was all those vitamins? No. She refused to believe that. There had to be more to it than some worthless damn pills, and there would be plenty of time to contemplate it later after Dean left.

After a few more deep breaths, Libby decided to focus on enjoying the next couple of hours. Her mother's voice followed her down the hall, admonishing her to enjoy the time she could have instead of bemoaning the time she couldn't. All right, so it was good advice. How the hell was she supposed to know that when she was fourteen? She rolled her eyes at the voice only she could hear before pushing open her door.

Her extra quilt was spread across the floor and Dean sat on it, leaning back against the couch scarfing down what looked like second helpings. Or thirds. How long had she been gone? His head whipped around as she closed the door and he grinned at her.

"About time," he said, setting his plate aside. Must be his third helping, she decided. Libby snagged the purple bottle of skin lotion from her counter before joining him. Dean grinned as he pulled off his shirt. He wriggled around until his back faced her. She squirted the lotion in her hand and he picked up his plate to resume eating. No surprise there.

Libby worked on his upper back and shoulders and tried not to think about how much she wanted him to stay. She knew why he had to leave, Logan had warned her that he wanted Dean on the Drake recovery team. Despite the fact it was for such a noble cause she felt a pang of jealousy. Libby pushed it away, enjoying the feel of hard muscles under her hands. There were scars here and there. She knew she could ask what caused them but the honest truth was she would rather not know. Not knowing cut down on the nightmares while he was away.

Dean told her about his family and how well everyone managed to behave. He laughed about the awkwardness between his brother and father, in the next breath saying how much 'the kid' had changed in college. Practically bursting with pride he described Sam's grades and classes. She tried to listen attentively, but instead spent the whole time trying to convince herself that going after a runaway student wouldn't be dangerous.

"As soon as I come back we'll go out." Dean had her full attention now. He held her gaze and he was so sincere she had to smile. "I promise, Baby."

That name always sent a warm thrill through her. "It's all right," Libby insisted. "I'm not worried about going out." She slumped next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and doing her best to look pathetic. "I'd rather stay in anyway."

He chuckled and wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. After pressing a kiss to her temple he promised her, "We'll do that, too."

* * *

"Time to head out!" Summers' voice echoed in the hall outside of Libby's room.

With a sigh Dean stuffed the last of his clean clothes, still warm from the heat of the dryer, into his duffel. He expected Libby to tell him to 'be safe' or 'be careful'. Instead she stood in front of her door, blocking him from leaving, to say, "Watch Logan's back."

He gave her a curious searching look. "Why?"

"Because he's watching yours," she replied.

"I wasn't gone that long," Dean protested. "Don't tell me you two are friends now."

Libby's arms stretched up, reaching for him. Dean stepped into the embrace to kiss her goodbye. Now he could tell she was not happy about this, not at all. Funny he couldn't sense that earlier.

"Hunter!" Summers shouted from the other side of the door.

He sighed, breaking their kiss. "Have to go."

Libby nodded, sharp disappointment stinging his eyes. Dean hesitated, one hand reaching out to brush against her cheek.

"Go," she insisted and the disappointment dropped away as her shoulders squared with resolution. "Call me when you find him."

"Is that in addition to everyday?" he asked, opening the door. "Or instead?"

"In addition," she said in a gentle voice, sweet and caring emotions flowing from her. It was difficult to walk away and join the rest of the search team.

Logan and Summers each carried a bag and wore street clothes, dark undershirts with flannel plaid button-downs, jeans and heavy winter coats. No matter what, Logan always looked like a lumberjack. Unless he was in that stupid blue and yellow costume. Dean tried to force the memory away and focus on the mission ahead. Besides, the new solid black costumes were almost tolerable.

"Logan says your car would be better outfitted for our mission," Summers told him as he headed into the hall. "Do you mind?"

"Nah," Dean replied with a one-shoulder shrug. "No problem." Behind Summers' back he tossed a grin to thank Logan. Logan grunted and his cigar wobbled a bit in his mouth.

* * *

Bobby Drake stared intently into the night looking for a good place to ask to be let out. They had passed the city limits sign about ten minutes ago so anything here should be fair game. Carl had said he couldn't drive through town with his load so Bobby assumed the same held true for Weasel.

"There's a fast food place that's open," Bobby said, pointing ahead at a glowing gold sign. "You can let me off there. I'll call my dad to come pick me up."

The trucker chuckled and Bobby had a baaaaad feeling. "Naw, we can do better than that, Bobby," he insisted. "Besides, I know you don't want to disappoint your fans."

"Fans?" Bobby swallowed hard against the hot dry lump wedged in his throat. "What fans? I'm not famous, I'm just going to see my mom."

"Not famous?" All three of Weasel's teeth showed as he grinned. "It's modest. That's cute in a mutant."

Yeah, that queasy feeling just turned to a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. "A what?" His voice even squeaked.

"Lots of folks want to meet mutants these days," Weasel continued. "Some want to study them, some want to lock 'em up, and some, well, are like these people you're going to meet." He chuckled darkly. "No stupid school to protect you now."

Panting wildly, Bobby feverishly looked for a way out, any way out. He took out the small container of Holy Water, intending to throw it on Weasel as a distraction. Even if this jerk wasn't a demon, being sprayed with water should still be a distraction.

"Stop!" Weasel shouted and Bobby couldn't move, all of his muscles frozen in place, the fist holding his potential salvation stuck in the air. The only part of his body he still had control over were his eyes. Now his eyes darted around, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening to him.

Weasel chuckled again and Bobby's skin crawled with the sound. "He said you were good at freezing, guess he was right. Just hang in there, Bobby. You'll have a chance to meet your new friends soon enough." The truck driver turned to look at Bobby and blackness swirled over his eyes.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! Bobby fought against his invisible bonds but it was no use. He couldn't move at all, not even his little toe. Professor Hunter was going to kill him; if he lived that long.


	66. Chapter 66: Problems, Big and Small

Chapter 66: **Problems, Large and Small**

Sam sighed heavily and stared at his reflection in the airport terminal window. This was not the way he had envisioned this New Year holiday ending. Then again, none of this week had gone the way he had expected. Dean was happy and healthy, which was a huge relief. Okay, maybe his brother had been a little too upbeat, but then again, Dean could have been happy to see him. That part was good. Real good. Bobby and Pastor Jim were a happy surprise and had been great to see. And Dad? Dad had been human. His father had behaved more like a real dad than a drill sergeant. To be honest, that part was a little creepy. Oddly, it had been the rare flashes of anger and Dad's stubborn 'I'm your father and I know better' attitude that Sam found comforting.

Too many changes. Surely it would take more than even a severe injury to cause his family to change this much. He contemplated what it might take, ridiculous reasons and scenarios running through his mind, until his number was called. Sam jumped up, relieved to have been pulled from his thoughts. He had been waiting to ride stand-by on the next available flight to the west coast. It looked like it was his lucky day, a direct flight to LA. Jess was visiting friends in the city and would be able to pick him up. He might even be able to spend a few days partying before going back to school.

The long flight would give him more time to mentally race into dead-end after dead-end. He simply could not possess all the information he needed to figure this out. There had to be more going on than either Dean or Dad let on. What was it going to take to learn their secrets?

Damn. Sam planned on this trip providing him with all the answers, not new questions. Maybe Dean and Dad were trying to drive him insane and force him to leave school due to an inability to study because he would be consumed with curiosity about the events of the past year or so.

Damn.

* * *

Bobby sat motionless in the passenger seat, not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. He could not move. Weasel laughed for a good solid ten minutes or so, his black eyes reflecting the headlights of passing cars. Demon. Those were the ones with black eyes, right? Talk about a situation going from bad to worse. The demon had him bound to the seat with invisible ropes. Well, that was Bobby's best description. He had tried icing down the seat, making a little snow, pretty much anything to show he wasn't totally helpless, but Bobby found out the hard way that he still needed to move. The bottle of Holy Water had been thrown out the window a few miles back and his hands were stuck to the seat. Probably in more ways than one, he realized as a stinging sensation came from his palm where he had lost a few layers of skin earlier.

Even the act of sighing was denied. Detention at school would be better than this. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest and sweat trickled down his spine and poured from his armpits. His shirt was probably soaked. Only small breaths were allowed and he panted as quickly as he could, trying to draw in as much air as possible. It didn't help.

The blackness over Weasel's eyes disappeared with a strong blink and he looked like a regular not-possessed person. Okay, regular might be pushing it. Granted.

He downshifted and the big rig slowed. They pulled off the freeway to drive down a large six lane street. Bobby kept trying to struggle against the invisible ropes but it was no use. There was no give.

He spotted a large used car lot ahead. The semi slowed down to a stop beside it. A group of men stood in the parking lot next to a large dark colored van. Bobby couldn't tell the exact color even with the city street lights. The heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach grew until he was consumed with a sensation of being too heavy, unable to move quickly, his eyelids so weary it was a constant struggle to keep them even partially open.

"Hello, guys!" Weasel shouted out his window. "Got your package in here."

The next thing Bobby was aware of was being handed down out of the truck cab. His head lolled to the side as he fought against his eyelids, trying to see what was happening.

"Don't forget, you have to keep this one warm," the demonic truck driver said. "The hotter the better."

"Like cold," Bobby mumbled in argument, causing some of the men to laugh at him.

He was dimly aware of the big truck driving away and being roughly bound and tossed inside the van. They rode a while, Bobby couldn't tell how long, to another place. This time he was carried over a large man's shoulder.

"Hey, Bull," one of the men called. "How are you going to keep it hot?"

"Never said I was," Bull said with a laugh. "Figure this one can earn its keep."

* * *

Libby stared at her phone like it was a dangerous serpent waiting to strike with deadly venom. Unfortunately this was a phone call long past due. With huge misgivings, she pulled out her personal phonebook and looked up the new number. Steady fingers punched it into her phone and she waited patiently as it rang, hoping to hear the click of an answering machine.

"Hello?" a cheerful woman's voice answered despite the late hour.

"Hi, Mother," she said.

"Elizabeth?" her mother's voice rose to an excited shriek. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Libby replied. "So, uh, how is the new house? I haven't seen it yet."

"You want to come visit?" Mother asked, sounding either shocked or scandalized, Libby could not tell. "Really? You're not teasing an old woman?"

Her face scrunched up as if she had bitten into something bitter. "Mother, you're not old," she protested quickly.

"Never mind that," Mother cut her off. "Are you serious about wanting to visit? When?"

"When?" Libby's mind raced. She knew, but it was more in an abstract sense than an exact date. "Oh, well, you see, I'm participating in a self defense seminar this month. I thought we could stop for a visit on the way back to school."

"We?" Mother asked, keying in on the one word she had been hoping to slip in there. "Are you and that boy Joseph back together?"

"No, ma'am," Libby replied. "His name is Dean."

"On the way back to school," Mother mused. "Is this one a teacher?"

She smiled to herself, wondering if she was capable of explaining Dean. "He does teach here," she said, "but I don't think he's what you would call a typical teacher. You'll see when you meet him."

"You met at work?" Mother asked.

Libby settled herself on the sofa. "He needed some research for a new course. I've been helping him put together reading materials for his class."

Her mother's warm, knowing chuckle sounded in her ear. "Let me guess. Lots of late nights? Going over research?"

Libby grinned. "Not going over research. Usually it's watching monster movies."

That made Mother laugh. "I like him already. When is this seminar?"

"I don't know exactly," she said. "It was scheduled for next week, but we had a student run away during the storm. Dean is on the team looking for him. I assume the seminar will be rescheduled after they return."

"A student ran away during the storm?" Mother asked, sounding incredulous. It was to be expected. Her parents had no knowledge of mutants. "Poor child. He could have frozen to death!"

"No," she said slowly, her mind racing for a good excuse. "There were some reports to the police of a boy hitch-hiking after the storm and he fit our student's description, so we're pretty sure it's him." Lying was easy when Dean wasn't around.

"I don't know whether to be relieved or horrified," her mother replied slowly. "Now why is your boyfriend going out looking for this child? Shouldn't they leave it up to the police?"

Oh, dear. That was an excellent point. "We have a program designed specifically for troubled teens," Libby replied, realizing this part was not a lie. "Approximately twenty percent of our student population were runaways before being found. Our school has a professional teen tracker on staff." She wondered how much protesting Logan would do if he discovered her new description of his duties. That could prove for an entertaining evening.

"And is he this professional tracker or just assisting?" Mother asked.

"Assisting," Libby said.

"What kind of seminar is this again?" Mother asked, making conversation. Libby surprised herself by enjoying spending some phone time with her mother. She discovered that she liked talking about Dean, and about their upcoming self-defense seminar.

"Will you be staying the night?" Mother wanted to know.

"Uh, well..." Libby faltered. "To be perfectly honest, I haven't told him about coming to see you. I wanted to talk to you first."

Mother laughed again. "In that case, why don't we just plan on you stopping by and we'll see how it goes? After all, the Colonel may hate him."

"True," Libby admitted. "But I have the feeling he won't."

"Why?" Mother sounded curious.

"Oh, I think you'll see when we come visit. I'll call when we're leaving Minnesota," she replied.

"What in the world is in Minnesota?" Mother blurted.

"The seminar," Libby said. She hesitated a moment before adding, "And his younger half-brother."

"Meeting his family?" Mother said, but she had a feeling there was more to it. "And you want him to meet yours. Oh, my, this sounds serious. How long have you been dating?"

"Since November. The Monday after Thanksgiving," she replied. Libby talked with her mother a while longer, describing a few of their dates, before hanging up. It was nearly time for Dean to call.

* * *

Logan lounged in the backseat of the Impala. The smell back here hadn't improved a whole lot. There was still some dirty shirts and old wrappers from drive-thru food. Summers' cell went off.

"Hello? … Yes, Professor. … I thought you could pinpoint the signal more accurately than that? … Strange. All right, we'll handle it. … Yes, sir. As soon as we know anything." Summers punched the button to end his call before stuffing the cell into his jacket pocket.

"Bad news?" Dean asked.

"Bobby is definitely in his hometown. It looks like he must have hitch-hiked to arrive so quickly. But now The Professor can't get a good lock on his energy signature, as if something were blocking it," Summers reported.

Dean shot a hard, knowing glance at Logan. "Well, that's just great."

"Don't sweat it, kid," Logan replied. "This ain't my first rodeo. I got a few tricks."

"It's something blocking the signal that's bothering me," Dean said slowly. "You know, Bobby and Jim should've dropped Sam off hours ago. I could ask them to go check on the kid's house, make sure there isn't anything weird happening."

"Why don't we switch drivers first?" Summers suggested. "People driving and talking on the phone at the same time make me nervous."

"Switch drivers?" Dean asked, a hint of fear-scent in the air. Oh, that kid and his precious damn car.

"Not like it's the first time," Logan growled as he batted at the kid's shoulder. "Pull over."

* * *

Bull had a few more sets of handcuffs back at the bar. Never could tell when things might get a little out of hand and they'd be necessary. He'd always been a little disappointed that he'd never been able to use 'em before. Before now.

Now he broke 'em out and cuffed the mutant disguised as a teenager up in the back room.

"They say you can make things cold," he stated, glaring down.

The mutant glared at him and remained silent.

"You're gonna earn your keep," Bull insisted. He left to roll in a keg. It was cool but not cold the way his customers liked it. To cut down on his overhead he tried to chill some of his inventory outdoors. A few nights ago it had all disappeared. So much for that idea. It was probably some thievin' mutant.

The mutant wouldn't even look at him. Frustrated, because this was a good idea if he could get a little cooperation, Bull leaned over to whack the mutant in the head with the back of his hand. Now he had its attention.

"I said," he repeated in a louder voice, "you're gonna earn your keep. Now chill this keg."

Again the mutant made no movements toward the keg. Bull pulled his arm back into position to strike it again if he had to. The mutant made a nasty face at him, but it reached out for the keg. Bull tried to be patient as he watched the mutant anxiously. Soon frost crystals formed on the outside of the keg.

"Not too much!" he snapped. "I don't want it frozen."

With a cold hard glare, the mutant pulled its hand away. Bull felt the side of his keg, it certainly seemed to be well chilled.

"Keep it up, and I might be able to find a sandwich for you," he promised cheerfully. This had the potential of solving some of his overhead problems, at least for the moment.

* * *

Bobby's cheek stung from the recent blow. He blinked back tears of horror and desperation. If he had talked to Professor Xavier or Professor Hunter, he wouldn't be here now. His mom might still be in danger but he wouldn't be chained up like a wild dog, useless to anyone. What good was he to her now?

Feeling utterly worthless, Bobby stretched his legs out on the concrete floor. He imagined he might be in the back room of a bar, but that was just going off the keg. It wasn't heated back here, the only plus. Yanking against the handcuff securing his left arm to the water pipe sticking out of the wall, Bobby wondered if he could make the metal cold enough to become brittle and break without too much effort. Probably not, he decided. He would most likely ice over the whole room in his attempt. It might be better to see how this played out and look for a way to escape either at night when his captor was sleeping or when they moved him again. That was a plan.

Feeling a little better with a plan, even if it was totally lame, Bobby leaned back to rest and wonder if Bull would remember his sandwich. He hadn't eaten in a while.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Bobby sat up, fully expecting another keg to be rolled in for chilling. What a moron. It was freaking freezing outdoors and he wanted his beer chilled? He couldn't store the kegs on the roof in the winter? Anywhere else outside and someone would probably steal it but the roof should be safe enough.

The door swung in and a man stood in the opening. He was old, probably around thirty, with dark brown hair and a pleasant face. When he stepped over the threshold into the room, all of the hairs on Bobby's arms and the back of his neck stiffened, followed by a nasty chill through his skin. Bad sign, Bobby decided.

The man closed the door behind him. He stood there, staring down at Bobby, for what felt like hours. What the hell could he want? All kinds of horrible scenarios flitted through Bobby's mind, including being 'used.' Yeah, like being captured and held back from saving his mom wasn't bad enough, right?

Finally the man spoke and his voice was raspy, like he smoked a lot. "You're what all the fuss is over?" His head tilted to one side and a bright green, like a neon sign, flared in his eyes. "I can't imagine what Azazel wants with you."

The green dimmed until his eyes looked human again. There was no way this guy was a human, it was another demon. They were everywhere! Professor Hunter never mentioned one with green eyes.

Bobby tried to swallow, his throat dry as a desert. He wanted to ask who it was but the thought of holding a conversation with a real live demon was too intimidating.

"Aw, it's shy." The green-eyed demon chuckled and a fresh nasty chill flitted over his skin. Normally Bobby liked the cold, but only natural cold. This was not a temperature kind of chill, it was more along the lines of there being no human warmth, compassion, in the man standing over him. He found himself having fond thoughts of being molested.

"Maybe later," it said with a chuckle, as if it had been reading his mind. "But first I want to know what Azazel told you."

Bobby shook his head, having nothing to tell it. He didn't know anyone by that name.

"You know," it said with a sigh and a roll of its eyes, "the guy with the glowing yellow eyes? What does he want with you?"

"Yellow eyes?" Bobby asked. "How do you know him? He's only in my dreams."

It smirked and leaned against the far wall with both arms crossed over its chest. "In your dreams, huh? Yep, Azazel is one sneaky bastard. I knew he'd been up to something. Come on, kid, what did he tell you in your dreams? That you're special? Chosen?" It made air quotes with its hands when it said "chosen".

Bobby tried swallowing again, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. Thoughts of his mother being in danger flashed through his mind.

It chuckled, its eyes flashing bright neon green again. "Mommy in danger? Now that's a classic. And you're the only one who can help her?" It pursed its lips to make a 'isn't that sweet' face at him. "Awww. Aren't you precious?" Its fingers beat out a rhythm on its upper arm. "Why would he want to draw you out? You must be more important than you look."

Bobby clamped his mouth shut. They took his Holy Water away and locked him up down here, but they couldn't force him to talk. Sure this thing seemed able to read some of his thoughts but clearly not all of them.

It rolled its glowing green eyes again. "Stubborn, too? Just going to make me do this the hard way, huh? It's been a while since I possessed a kid, but I think I remember how." It smiled and that cold chill returned and stayed. "Once I'm in, kiddo, no one will be able to stop me from taking a stroll through your mind. Especially you."

The man's head tilted back and his mouth opened wide. A tornado of pitch black smoke billowed from his mouth into the air as the man's body fell to the floor in an unconscious heap. It darted around the room while Bobby watched, too scared to move or even breathe. The smoke circled his head as he frantically tried to remember that exorcism thing. When Bobby opened his mouth to recite the ancient language, the smoke darted in.

It had a foul taste and made his mouth icy cold, the first time Bobby found an icy feeling unpleasant. He spat it out, the smoke darting away. It came at him again as he tried to recite the first part of the ritual. It dove at his mouth, making it halfway down his throat this time. Pain flared from the inside out, starting as cold then turning into searing heat threatening to burn its way through. Bobby clawed at his open mouth with his free hand as if he could grab the smoke and yank it out. With his fingers in his mouth he felt cold seep from his hand. It spread slowly down his throat, soothing the burning. Freezing cold spread down until he could feel the black smoke battling against the iced over walls of his throat.

The demon blackness poured out to zoom back to the man on the floor. It rushed into him, filling him up like air into a balloon. It stood to glare at Bobby, shock and something else – disgust? - filling the human face.

"You shouldn't be able to do that," it said slowly, the raspy voice softer than before. "No human can do that." It made a horrible face, its eyes glowing bright and the expression like it bit into something really nasty and bitter. "But you're not exactly human, are you?"

Bobby decided to try the exorcism again, but it lifted a hand. His lips pressed tightly together and he couldn't open his mouth. Desperately Bobby tried to mumble his way through it, literally.

"Forget it, mutant," it snapped in that unearthly raspy voice. "It's not happening." It paced in front of him for a moment, lost in thought. Then it stopped to glare at him. "Now I see why Azazel targeted you. I think I agree with him. This time." A slimy smile crossed its face. "He's a fan of irony, you know. Here you are, a natural defense against our kind, and these frightened humans want to kill you. But then, they or some other mutant are the only ones who can." It chuckled. "And I'm going to let them."

It turned around to regard him again as it opened the door to leave. "But I might go pay dear old mom a visit. Make sure she's all right." It winked one of those glowing green eyes at him.

Bobby couldn't even swallow until after its footsteps had faded down the hall, mixing in with the sounds from the bar. Now that he was alone, thankfully, he noticed that he was physically uncomfortable. His pants were too warm. Looking down, Bobby saw that his jeans were wet between his legs. It matched the wet heat streaming down his cheeks.

"Great," he mumbled to himself as his face heated up. With his free hand he swiped at his face. "I hope that idiot Bull didn't throw away my backpack."


	67. Chapter 67: Picking up the Trail

Chapter 67: **Picking up the Trail**

Bobby buried his face in the crook of his arm as the door to his prison opened. This time the hairs on his arms, legs and the back of his neck didn't stiffen and there was no chill in his skin. Either the hairs were tired or the demon hadn't come back.

"Wake up, mutant," Bull's voice said harshly. "I have more work for you."

Slowly Bobby lifted his head, wondering how he could ask for his backpack and a change of clothes.

"Oh." Bull's expression soured. "Mutants need to use the bathroom, huh? Didn't think about that."

Not a surprise. Bobby doubted Bull thought about much.

Bull produced another set of handcuffs. Good God, how many did he own? First Bull cuffed his hands together, then he uncuffed his left wrist from the wall.

"Don't get any smart ideas," the large man growled, pulling him up by the scruff of his neck. Bobby stumbled a few times on the way to a small dingy bathroom. He hoped there was a nicer one for the people who came to the bar. Somehow he doubted it, though. The pipes stuck out into the room here too, which was convenient because Bull produced yet another set of handcuffs to secure him to one of the pipes. "Wait here."

Yeah, because he had so many places to go, right? Bobby stood there, both hands gripping the pipe, wondering what Bull would do now. When Bull returned Bobby was relieved to see his backpack in the idiot's hands. Bull yanked it open, probably screwing up the zipper by the sounds of it. He dug around in there for a while before pulling out Bobby's other pair of jeans.

"There." He held them out. Bobby waited. "Well?" Bull demanded.

Could anyone really be this stupid? Bobby clanked the cuffs against the pipe. "Uh, I'm kind of tied up here."

Bull rolled his eyes. "Thought they were supposed to have extra arms," he muttered, reaching for the set of cuffs holding his hands together.

With one arm freed, Bobby picked up his other pants. "Underwear?" he asked.

Bull groaned, acting like he was being heavily put-upon. He held out the backpack while keeping a firm hold on the top. "Get 'em yourself."

Bobby stretched out to reach inside the bag. He felt around until fabric soft enough to be underwear hit his fingers. Pulling it out he could see it was white, so that was probably it.

Bull yanked the backpack away. "That's it. Now change. And wash your face while you're it. Cryin' makes you look almost human." He snorted and made a sour face.

Bobby waited until the door was closed before attempting to change clothes using only one free hand. It wasn't easy, but he did it. Putting his shoes back on was the worst part, forget tying the laces. Feeling much better, he looked in the mirror over the sink. His eyes were red-rimmed and there were tear streaks down his cheeks. Great. Bobby turned on only the cold water to wash. Using his free hand he splashed it on his face. Now that felt good. Bobby did it again. When he opened his eyes the sight of the cuffs securing him to the wall caught his attention. He glanced down at the cold water pouring into the sink. Plenty of water here.

Slowly a smile crept on his face. With a water source, maybe he could bring down the temperature of the handcuffs to the point the metal would be brittle enough to break. There hadn't been any noise from outside the bathroom door for a while. No time like the present!

* * *

Dean hung up after talking to Bobby. He and Jim promised to head for Drake house, so all they had to worry about now was finding the kid. He looked at his watch.

"Crap – I'm late for check-in with Libby!" he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't talk forever," Logan snapped from behind the wheel. "I know how you two are."

He rolled his eyes and ignored the comment. Dean pressed his speed-dial for Libby's phone.

"Dean?" Libby asked, her voice soft and maybe a little sleepy.

"Yeah," he replied. "Has my dad made it there yet? He's supposed to check in with you."

"About an hour ago," she said with a yawn. "I promised to help him find your class notes in the morning."

"Good. We're still on the road," he told her.

"Dean? I need to ask you something," Libby said slowly, sounding more awake.

"Sure, go ahead." Dean wondered if he would need to sit up for this.

"Well, my parents own a farm house in Ohio. It's kind of on the way to your brother's. Would you mind if we stopped off on the way home from the seminar?"

Dean was floored. "Y-you want me to meet your parents? Really?"

Both men in the front seat chuckled and exchanged amused looks. Dean felt like sitting up and slapping both of them in the back of the head. Jerks. He used his free hand to reach up over the top of the front seat and thump Logan in the shoulder, earning him another round of chuckling.

"If you don't mind," she said quickly. "I just thought we'd been dating a while, and it's been going pretty well between us..."

"No, no," he insisted. "That's fine. Just caught me off-guard, that's all. I think the last time a chick wanted me to meet her parents I was fourteen and she was trying to piss them off."

This time the laughter came from the front seat and the phone pressed against his ear, accompanied by waves of amusement at his expense.

"I promise I'm not trying to piss them off," Libby said, her voice light and cheerful. "I really want them to like you."

"I can make that happen," he offered.

"Don't you dare," she laughed.

"You'll look after Dad?" Dean asked, smiling despite the amusement at his expense in front of him.

"I promise. Now go find that boy," Libby ordered. "I'll see you soon."

"Hope so. Bye, Baby."

Deep sigh. "Bye."

Damn. Now why was that becoming harder?

"You have to check in?" Summers asked, one arm hanging over the seat.

"Don't have to," Dean replied, closing his eyes. A smile crossed his face. "I want to."

"He has it bad," Summers announced.

Logan grunted. "Ya don't know the half of it."

"Wake me when we get there," Dean said with a wide yawn.

* * *

"Are you sure you had a good visit?" Jess asked for the one hundred and seventy-second time.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes and yes. Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because you keep looking at your phone like it should be ringing," she replied, bouncing down to sit on the guest bed. Her friends had a nice house with several guest rooms. Their parents must be loaded.

"Well, I keep thinking Dean will call," he said with a shrug.

"Why?" Jess asked, giving him a quizzical look.

Dreading being psychoanalyzed, he seriously considered lying. After weighing his options and deciding telling the truth would be the safer way to go, Sam replied, "To make sure I made it here in one piece."

Jess shot him a look of pure disbelief. "After all that bellyaching you did about your family treating you like a kid? Now you want them to?"

He shook his head, turning away. "You wouldn't understand."

"Hey, hold up there, tiger," Jess fussed, grabbing him by one arm. "Actually, I think you're having more difficulties dealing with the changes in your family than they are with you growing up. Or am I wrong?"

Sam chewed at his lower lip for a moment, shocked at how she managed to hit that one so well on target. He shrugged, refusing to admit to it.

"You know what? That's all right," Jess said, "because we are going to be so busy between now and the start of term that you won't have time to worry about it."

"Doing what?" he asked suspiciously.

A brilliant smile flashed. "You know my birthday is at the end of the month, right? Well, Dad's is next weekend. I came in here to tell you that my mother called. They want to fly us out for a combined birthday celebration." She shrugged at him, still beaming. "There will be cooking and baking, cleaning and decorating. See? Plenty to do."

"I'd rather be in class," he heard himself say.

Jess rolled her eyes and shook her head dramatically. "All study and no play makes Sam a dull boy."

"Oh, all right," he relented, more to see her smile again than because he really agreed. "But we'll be back in time for the start of term?"

"Absolutely," she promised with a broad smile. "It's very likely."

Very likely. That meant they wouldn't miss more than two days' worth of classes. Tops.

* * *

"Hey, Kid." Logan reached into the back to grab Dean by the leg. "Wake up!" He had to shake the kid a couple of times before Dean's eyes fluttered open. The kid sat up with a jerk, hands balled in fists, ready for action. Man, was he glad he met this brat.

"Easy kid," Logan snapped, gratified when Dean's fists relaxed. "Time fer work."

Dean blinked hard a couple o' times before nodding. He pulled one o' them nutrition bars out to chow down on. "'at's urst?"

Logan scowled in disgust. "First we see if'n we c'n pick up Drake's trail," he said.

Dean looked out the window at the rest stop. His head jerked a couple o' times at the rigs.

"This is where Drake stopped for a while," Summers explained. "Logan is hoping to ask around about him."

Dean nodded and winked, reaching for the back door. "'et's go." He swallowed hard to clear his mouth. "No cover story, right? We stick with the truth? He's a runaway student."

"Yeah, of course," Summers replied, with this real confused look on 'is face.

"Hunter ain't a big fan of tellin' the truth all the time," Logan explained.

Dean groaned as he pushed open the back door. "Pain in the ass," he muttered real soft.

"I heard that!" Logan retorted.

"You were supposed to!" Dean called back, heading to the closest truck on the right.

Fine. Logan would head left. They'd cover more ground that-a-way. He glanced back at Summers who was standin' between 'em, not knowin' which way to go. "Damn kids," he muttered in disgust under his breath before wavin' Summers in Dean's direction.

* * *

Scott hurried to follow Hunter to the first 18-wheeler truck. Hunter knocked on the driver's door. The instant there was movement from inside the cab, a pleasant friendly smile appeared and Hunter suddenly looked about as innocuous as you could in a trucker rest stop.

"Yeah?" the driver called down from the open window.

"I don't suppose you've picked up any hitch-hikers since yesterday?" Dean called up. "We're trying to find a kid who ran away."

The trucker made a face as he shook his head. "Don't pick up hitchers. Seen too many of those movies."

Hunter chuckled and waved. "Thanks anyway."

"Wait a minute!" The door opened and a man climbed down to stand next to his truck. He was about their height with dark hair and rumpled clothes, like he had been on the road all day. The truck driver scratched at a couple days' worth of stubble. "Runaway?" he asked. "How old?"

"Sixteen," Scott said hopefully, "but I'm sure he would have lied about it if you asked him."

"I don't pick up hitchers, but I heard somebody lookin' for a ride late this afternoon. Some boy goin' home to his sick mother. Real heart-breaker. That sound like your kid?" he asked.

Hunters nodded. "Unfortunately. Because of the ice storm we couldn't arrange for him to go home right away, so he took off."

The man shook his head at them. "I'm pretty sure it was Carl who picked him up but I don't do passengers, so I wasn't listenin' to who took him after that." He motioned down the line of semis. "He's down there sleeping, but I don't know who he's drivin' for this month."

"Can you call him?" Hunter asked hopefully.

The truck driver gave Hunter a sympathetic look. "Sorry. Carl turns off his radio and his phone when he's sleeping." He held out a hand. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Hunter shook the outstretched hand. "You've been a big help."

Scott shook the man's hand too before following to the next truck in line. Halfway there Hunter turned around to face the direction Logan went in. Scott could just make out Logan's silhouette standing on the running board of a truck. Hunter cupped his hands around his mouth. "Logan! We're looking for a driver named Carl!"

Logan waved. He remained on the running board for a few more moments before jumping down and heading to the next truck in line. Scott hurried to follow Hunter. They still had a lot of ground to cover.

* * *

Bobby concentrated on freezing the handcuffs, ignoring all of the other ice he was making. After a while he noticed that the temperature in here was pretty nice. That was when he made the mistake of looking around.

The concrete floor was barely visible under a thick sheet of solid ice. It stretched up the wall, several inches thick at the baseboard level, paper thin by the time it reached his eye level. Oh, great. If this had been an exercise at school he would've flunked for sure. Oh, well. Bobby pulled his feet out of the holes in the ice that had grown around him. As he watched, the holes filled in.

He had to admit it, his freezing powers were pretty damn cool. Pun intended.

Bobby returned his focus to the cuffs, trying to reduce their temperature until the metal became brittle. Every few minutes he would yank again and hope they would break, but so far not even a crack. If Bull would stay gone for just a little longer, maybe another twenty minutes, he might come back to an empty icy bathroom. Bobby chuckled to himself, imagining the look on the fat bartender's face. That would almost be worth hanging around for, except he didn't want to be caught again. Ever.

He was concentrating so hard, Bobby did not notice the sound of footsteps. His first warning that he was busted was the sound of a throat clearing behind him. Bobby stopped the flow of ice from his fingertips to turn his head slightly to his left, where he could peer over his shoulder behind him. Bull stood there holding a shovel, the business end up in the air. The next thing he heard was a loud clanging noise, like a bell, followed by silent darkness.

* * *

Scott had to admit Hunter was pretty good at this kind of thing. He refused to pass up a single truck, pounding on doors and windows until he spoke with a representative of each one. He moved quickly and efficiently without appearing rude, simply in a hurry. All of the truck drivers were sympathetic and as helpful as possible, which Scott would not have bet on. Then again, it could be simply due to Hunter's presence.

He tried to bear in mind the warning Professor Xavier had given him weeks ago, that his instant dislike for Hunter was not his own doing. Apparently Hunter had judged him as being someone who normally wouldn't like an arrogant, swaggering, flirting, leather jacket wearing jerk, so Hunter actually pushed out a perception of being disliked. Scott had to admit, it wasn't difficult to dislike the guy. It was more difficult to like him, even though that had been becoming easier lately.

Now, for example, to see Hunter so caught up in the man-hunt for a missing student had definitely notched up Scott's respect for him. He also had a tendency to throw himself into the middle of situations, never backed down even when the odds were against him, thought quickly on his feet, and occasionally beat Gambit at poker. Having someone around who could take Gambit's money was reason enough to tolerate the guy.

Hunter reached up to knock on the next truck door. He had to pound a few times before the the window rolled down. A sleepy face stuck out.

"Are you Carl?" Hunter called up.

"Yeah." The trucker hung an arm out the window. "Who wants to know?"

"We're looking for a kid who ran away," Hunter replied. "He's about this tall." He held a hand at approximately Bobby's height. "Short blond hair. Sound familiar?"

Carl frowned. "You mean Bobby?"

"Oh, thank God," Scott said. "Do you know where he is now?"

Carl leaned out the window. "You're not his father? Because he told me he was headed home."

"No," Hunter called up. "He ran away from school before we could arrange transportation."

Carl nodded thoughtfully. "Wish I'd known that before making arrangements with Weasel, but that kid was bound and determined, you know? I was afraid he'd start hitchin' again. Weasel's not the brightest guy around, but he's a good driver and totally harmless."

"Have you heard from him lately? Like where he dropped off Bobby?" Scott asked.

Carl shook his head down at them. "Radio's off. I've been sleepin'."

"Can you call and ask?" Hunter suggested. "We just talked to his parents and he still hasn't made it home."

"We did?" Scott asked under his breath.

Hunter shot him a hard glare. "Yeah."

"All right." The driver's door swung open. "Come on in." Carl waved them up. "So you can hear me when I get Weasel on the horn."


	68. Chapter 68: Almost

Chapter 68 - **Almost**

Hunter motioned for Scott to go first. Relieved that they may have their first solid lead, he climbed up into the truck cab while Hunter hollered for Logan to join them. Hunter stood on the running board, soon joined by Logan.

The call to Weasel, a disturbing nickname, was oddly anti-climatic.

"What kid?" the voice crackled through the radio. "I didn't pick up no kid."

Carl frowned, lifting the radio handset to his mouth. "Weasel, you picked him up at the reststop outside of Long Island, remember? I was there."

"Carl, you been smokin' those funny cigarettes again?" Weasel asked.

A red flush started under Carl's collar, creeping slowly up into his face. "Where are you?" he demanded. "You picked up that kid about," he checked his watch, "seven hours ago."

"That's the weird part," Weasel said slowly. "I'm in Long Island, but I have no idea how I got here."

"Where is he?" Hunter snapped, feeling all of his pockets until he located a pen and a scrap of paper.

"I need to know where you are, Weasel," Carl insisted. "Got some guys here who want to talk to you."

* * *

Dean pulled up alongside about twenty semis in a row. They were at a truck stop on Long Island, right at the edge of a heavily populated area.

"Which one do you think is his?" Summers asked, peering through the windshield.

Dean shrugged. "I guess we're going to find out." He turned in his seat to address both men in the car. "Missing time, confusion and disorientation are classic symptoms of being possessed by a demon. So when we find this Weasel character, I need to talk to him. All right?"

They both nodded before opening their doors to step out of the car. Dawn was threatening in the eastern horizon, painting streaks of orange and pink at the edge of night.

"Depending on what we find out here," Summers announced, "we may need to rent a motel room and grab some sleep."

Dean nodded, noticing the telltale signs of exhaustion in the weary aches and pains in his neck and shoulders. Logan rolled his eyes with a grunt. Figured. Mister Invincible wouldn't need sleep.

It was the legwork, like this, that was such a pain in the ass. Give him a grave to dig any day over this.

* * *

Bull dumped the mutant on the floor of the old abandoned cereal warehouse, glad to be rid of it. Once all that stupid ice melted he'd probably have a damn flood in his bar. A mutant flood. Yeah, that'd be great for business.

"What did it do?" a snooty voice asked.

Bull whipped around to face some guy dressed like a professor, right down to the know-it-all tone of voice. Occasionally some university type would wander into his bar, but they never stuck around long. His regular customers typically proved too rough for them to stand and Bull liked it that way.

"Turned my back room into a freezer," Bull complained, aiming a kick at the mutant's motionless foot.

"I see," the professor-type said. "I don't suppose you provoked it?"

"Hey, I didn't do nuthin'!" Bull exclaimed. Was this jackass trying to say his frozen back room was his fault??

"I'm sure," Mister High-And-Mighty said with a nod. "It just goes to prove how dangerous these mutants are. That we should not attempt to take them home or try to find a use for them. The only good mutant is a dead one." He looked down at the unconscious mutant with a sneer. "A fate which will be shared by this one eventually."

"Good." Bull shifted his attention back to High-And-Mighty. "Why wait?"

The jerk sneered at him. "Offering your services?"

He found himself taking a step back. Hey, he was a businessman! Not some kind of cold-blooded killer. Besides, it looked like a kid. Who could kill some kid?

"Just askin'," Bull replied defensively. "What do you want it for?"

"I don't believe that concerns you," High-And-Mighty replied. "Thanks for the delivery."

"Yeah, sure," Bull muttered, walking away. "Jerk."

* * *

A buzzer kept going off. Bobby tried to reach for the snooze button on his alarm clock, but his arms didn't want to move. Waking with a jerk, his eyes flashed open. Not in the dorm.

Bobby looked up at the high ceilings with bare steel beams and around at the uninsulated walls. It couldn't be Bull's place. Warehouse? Where the heck was he now?

"It's awake," an unfamiliar voice said from behind him.

Bobby tried to turn to face the voice but once again he was secured in place using handcuffs. What was wrong with these people? What did they want? A cold sweat broke out all over his body as he remembered those glowing green eyes. He needed to escape, to put as much distance between himself and It. The school might be safe. He hoped.

A man in a nice suit, who dressed a lot like his dad did for work, walked around where Bobby could see him. "I hear you like the cold," he said, nodding at Bobby's hands.

Not understanding, Bobby looked down at the thing he was cuffed to. It was kind of round and too big to put his arms all the way around even if he weren't wearing handcuffs. When he stood up it came to his waist and had a pipe coming out of the top which went outside through a rough-cut hole in the wall. He could smell burning. Bobby sniffed again.

"What's burning?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

The man in the suit grinned, reaching for a cutting of wood from a pile between the round thing and the wall. Bobby squeezed his eyes closed bracing himself for the impact. Instead he heard the squeal of hinges. Peering through slitted eyelids, he saw the man opening a door in the front of the thing he was chained to. The man threw the wood inside before slamming the door closed again.

"Nice and warm in here, isn't it?" The man smiled broadly.

Returning his attention to his current predicament, Bobby recognized what this thing was now. It was a stove! A huge wood burning stove. Which, according to some stupid story he had to read for English class, in the olden days they were used to heat entire houses.

Bobby missed even English class right now. If he made it out of this alive, he was going to be the best student Xavier Institute ever saw. Yeah, all right, that was a lie. But he would do better. Especially in Professor Hunter's classes. And Logan's. As long as he made it back, Bobby promised God and anyone listening in that he would try in all of his classes. He would do more than try if his mom was all right, too.

* * *

Dean jumped down from talkin' to the driver goin' by Weasel. Logan couldn't stand to go too close 'cause of the smell, so it was a good thing Dean wanted to do this one himself.

"Well?" Summers demanded the second Dean's boots hit pavement. "Was he possessed?"

"Looks like," Dean replied with a nod. He held up a slip of paper. "And I have the address for the parking lot he woke up in. I figure we do a sweep of the area, pose as Feds and flash Bobby's picture around until someone recognizes it."

"Pose as Feds?" Summers demanded. "Are you crazy? I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

"So?" Dean asked with a shrug. "Trust me, it gets results."

Summers glared at him. "You do realize I teach ethics, right?"

Dean met Summer's glare with one of his own. "Look, do you want to find this kid or not?"

One of Summer's arms lashed out in Logan's direction. "Why do you think he's with us?" He spun around to face Logan. "Well? What's next?"

Logan took out a cigar to stick in the corner of his mouth. "Most runaways are livin' on the streets, in abandoned buildings and the like. If Bobby's been taken by a demon?" He shrugged. "Beats me. I c'n check the usual hidin' places in the area that guy woke up in while you two princesses grab some beauty sleep."

Dean nodded heavily. "Now that sounds like a plan. Let's find a motel."

* * *

Glad to be on his own for while, even if it was just a few hours, Logan headed out on foot. It was easier to spot good places ta hide when you wasn't flyin' by 'em at fifty miles an hour. Every alley and abandoned building he passed Logan peered inta and gave a good sniff. No Drake brat.

After a couple o' hours, he stopped outside an old boarded up movie theater. Logan vaguely remembered when the first talkies came out, how excited people were. This place coulda been one o' the first talkie theaters; it looked old enough. He sniffed the air. It didn't smell like Drake but that was definitely the scent of cookin'. Beans. There was beans cookin' inside. About time he found a place where the runaways gathered. Every town had one.

Logan walked around back, checking each door real careful-like, until he found one barely hanging closed. When he touched it, it swung open. He slipped inside and followed his nose. Inside one o' the movie rooms there was at least a dozen kids, most sleepin'. The few that was awake was cookin' over a camp fire, one of them box-things that puts out heat and no flame. They gasped when they saw him.

"Not the cops," he assured them, hands open to show he didn't mean 'em no harm. "I'm just lookin' for a kid."

The older one by the camp fire, he looked a little older'n Drake, stood up. "Nobody here does that," he stated boldly. One arm pointed south. "Go up the street to that fleabag motel, they can help you." When the kid said that, all the little hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. Weird.

"Nah, bub," Logan assured him, "ain't like that. I'm lookin' for a kid who ran away. Name's Bobby Drake. He's about your height, short hair, just came to town last night. Seen 'im?"

The boy shook his head, his face set hard and unyielding, clearly not believin' Logan's story. Those hairs on the back o' his neck started twitchin'.

"Nice place you got," he commented, making a point of lookin' around. Once upon a time it was a ritzy theater. Now red fabric on the seats was moldy and tearin'. Some o' the walls were stained from the roof leakin'. Real shame.

He returned his gaze to the leader. "I'll bet you hear all kinds o' rumors, right?" he asked. "See, this kid I'm looking for, he likes ice. You hear anything about the inside of a buildin' freezin'? Or anything strange involvin' ice?"

The boy-leader exchanged a glance with the other kids sittin' by the open can o' warmin' beans.

"How do we know we can trust you?" he demanded.

Logan took out a cigar to chew on as he thought about that one. "You don't," he admitted. "The truth is, this Drake kid is in a lot o' trouble. And I don't mean about runnin' away."

"What kind of trouble?" the boy asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Truth? Lie? Odds were this brat wouldn't believe nuthin' he had to say anyway. Then again, was it him or was this kid a little too sure of himself? And that twitchy feelin' he had, it was kind of familiar, kinda like when they saw that cop outside the mall.

Logan eyed the brat as he walked closer. Brat might think he was a little nuts in about two seconds. "Christo," he said loud and clear.

Blackness slammed down over the human eyes. "Damn," he muttered as he charged for the kid. Reciting the anti-demon stuff, Logan slammed into demon-brat. He held the kid on the floor as the demon squirmed and tried to fight. When it seemed to be gettin' the upper hand and looked like it might escape, Logan snapped his wrists and the claws shot out. Fightin' invisible hands pullin' at him, Logan kept it pinned to the floor usin' his claws. His mind raced to remember the rest of the exorcism. Why can't none of this stuff be in good old fashioned English? Heck, he'd take British English over this crap.

The kid's head jerked and his mouth opened wide. With a windy howl, the black demon smoke flew out, circled around the room once stirring up all the loose old newspapers in the theater, and darted down through the floor. In the creepy silence that followed, Logan walked over to check out that part of the floor. The stained carpet had a new black mark.

"Really learnin' ta hate those things," he said to himself, starin' down at the mark.

"W-what things?" It was a girl's voice. She had been one o' the kids cookin'. Looked like ev'rybody was awake now, 'cept the leader kid.

Logan sighed, turning around. This was supposed to be Dean's damn job, but no. Damn kid had to take a nap. "Demon," he said gruffly. "I don't s'pose you know anything about a runaway, would've arrived last night? Boy, sixteen, short hair."

The girl's head shook and she hugged herself, taking a step backwards.

"Not me," Logan snapped. He waved a hand at the floor. "That thing's a demon, and I got a feelin' it's after the same kid I'm lookin' for."

"Don't Sarah," a boy whispered at her back when she moved closer again.

"You asked about ice?" she said in a soft voice.

Logan nodded, not wantin' to spook her even more. The older boy on the ground moaned a little, drawing attention from the others.

"There's a bar, over on Capitol, bad place. We avoid it," the girl Sarah told him. "Rumor has it one of the rooms froze over last night. Solid ice covering the floor and all the walls and the heat was working in the building." She motioned to the runaways standing behind her. "They think it's God or karma, you know, what he had comin'."

"What he had comin'?" Logan repeated. "What for?"

The girl shook her head, glancing around at the others. "It's a bad place," she whispered.

Damn kids. With a sigh Logan dug out some o' the cards Dean had made. He held one out. "If'n you decide you don't want ta live like this, any of ya, call us."

"Sarah!" the boy at her back hissed real urgent-like.

She frowned and pursed her lips. Lifting one hand to shoulder level, she made a motion with fingers. The card lifted out of Logan's hand and moved across the room so steady and level it was like somebody invis'ble was carryin' it. Maybe she was the reason the damn demon came here. They seemed ta like pickin' on mutants.

"There are people like you there," he told her. "It's a school."

She glanced at the card in her hand. "This says it's a self-defense course."

He shrugged. "That's a friend o' mine, Hunter. He does it on the side. His reg'lar job is teachin' myths and legends. Good class. I sit in on it sometimes." He kicked at the blackened carpet. "None of this at the school. We made sure." He gave her a long look before turnin' around. "There's food and it's heated!" Logan called out as he walked away.

Next stop: The Bar.

* * *

Sam carried his and Jess' bags through the airport. Her father waited for them in passenger pick-up.

"Daddy!" she cried, rushing to hug her father. Sam stood awkwardly off to the side wondering what to do with their bags.

"Here," Mister Moore said, opening the trunk. "Sam. Good to see you again."

Sam dumped their bags inside. "You too, Mister Moore. Does your family do this combined-birthday thing every year?"

"No." He slammed the trunk lid closed. "But then, it's not every year that my baby girl is too busy to come home for my birthday."

"Dad!" Jess snapped, hands on her hips.

Mister Moore grinned, waving them closer to the car. "Come on, before they give me a ticket."

Sam sat in the back so Jess could sit by her father in front. He listened to their chatter idly, his mind returning to the fact he had not heard from either his father or brother since leaving them. Yeah, all right, Dean was supposedly looking for a missing student who was probably having the time of his life. What about Dad? Dad could have called.

Oh, get over it, Sam, he told himself harshly. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? After no contact for a year he really expected them all to fall back in their old patterns. Jess was right, he was having more trouble adjusting to the new dynamic than his father or brother. Dean was the one Sam had really expected to act like nothing had changed.

So lost in his own thoughts, Jess had to open the back door and shake his shoulder to let him know they had arrived. Sheepishly, Sam stepped out of the car to take his bag from the trunk. Jess cast a couple of worried glances over her shoulder but she did not ask.

Like last time, they were assigned to sleep on separate floors. Her folks were not stupid. After dumping his bag on the guest bed, Sam sat for a moment and stared at his phone. He chewed at his thumb nail, wondering if he should bother Dean.

Jess breezed into his room. "Call him," she announced.

Startled, Sam looked up at her. "What?"

"Your brother. Call him and get it over with." Jess shot him a hard look. "I am not putting up with you being all moody the whole time we're here. When you're done come to the kitchen. Mom needs help rolling out pie crust."

"Uh, okay," Sam replied slowly.

Jess walked out down the hall toward the kitchen. "Call him!" she shouted.

"Call him, call him," he mumbled, already selecting Dean's number. "Like I wasn't going to. I just, you know, needed a little time. That's all."

Dean's phone rang long enough Sam just knew it would be the voicemail picking up. "Yeah?" his brother's sleepy voice said.

Sam checked his watch. "Dude, it's lunchtime. You're really still sleepin'?"

"Huh? Sam?"

"Yes, it's Sam. What are you doing?" Sam demanded. "I thought you were supposed to be out looking for some kid."

A loud yawn sounded through the phone. "We pulled an all-nighter, dude. Just grabbing a nap before hitting the streets again. So what's up?"

"Up? What makes you think something's up?" Sam asked.

"Sam, you called me. You only call when there's something up." Another yawn. "Or when you think there is."

Sam bit back his initial response, to demand why Dean thought that way. He already knew the answer. This was his chance to change their patterns, to set new goals for their relationship. Oh, God, he was starting to sound like Professor Melton.

"I just wanted to check in with you and make sure your man-hunt was going all right," he said, maybe a little stiffly. It took all of his willpower not to add 'got a problem with that?'

"Oh." Dean went quiet for a moment. "Actually, we may have a lead on where the kid is, at least the area he's in. Logan went to scout it out while we took a break."

"We?" Sam asked. "Don't tell me your girlfriend went too?" He hoped his voice didn't sound as sarcastic to Dean as it had to him.

Dean laughed. "No, dude. Actually, he's the principal."

"Headmaster," came a male voice from the background.

"Headmaster," Dean repeated in a mocking tone.

"So your boss is with you?" Sam asked, shocked by the situation. He could see sending professional trackers out to hunt down a runaway, and Dean almost qualified for that, but the school's headmaster? "What kind of school is this again?"

Now that he thought about it, Dean never had said specifically what kind of school this so-called Institute was. All their website claimed was 'gifted and talented' which could mean almost anything.

"Oh, dude, I think Logan's back. I'll give you a call later, all right? Bye."

"Dean, wait a minute," he tried, but it was too late. Dean had hung up. Avoiding the question? Why would he avoid a question about a frigging school?

Screw the pie crusts, Sam needed his laptop. He had some serious research to do.


	69. Chapter 69: Saving the Iceman

A little longer than usual, but considering how I've left you all twisting in the wind with these cliff-hangers, I didn't think you'd mind.

**Chapter 69 – Saving the Iceman**

Jess' family was great, they really were. But sometimes they were so freaking Norman Rockwell Sam felt like blowing his brains out. That was when he excused himself for 'a walk'. Jess knew what he meant by it. She didn't exactly approve, but she seemed to understand. He figured if he made it back by dinner it would be all right.

Sam walked along the street to the local bar, the one too 'rough' for her dad or brother to stop in, which made it his favorite place around here. The truth was it was he had been in worse. As long as he didn't try to take one of the regular's stools, he should be fine. And if worst came to worst, well, Sam had managed to keep in shape despite his strict study habits. He took his frosty mug of beer to the far corner where he could drink it alone and watch the regulars.

While he sat nursing his beer and musing over whether the guy at the far end of the bar would fall off his stool in the next ten minutes, the front door opened. More out of deeply ingrained habit than curiosity, Sam turned to watch the newest patrons to walk in.

Three men, all good-sized, entered the bar. They walked in formation, almost military in their approach and uniform in their choice of black suits. The tallest one, in the middle, wore amber colored sunglasses. Indoors. Weird. The man flanking on his right, on Sam's side, had wild dark hair that kind of came up to a point on either side. Sam couldn't decide which of them was stranger. Then the middle one motioned to the man on his left. Now this guy had real short hair and exuded authority. Walking with the kind of confidence born of doing, he sauntered up to the bar and flipped open his wallet.

Sam blinked in amazement, certain he was wrong. His eyes had to be playing tricks on him. The man showing off some form of ID to the bartender looked an awful lot like his brother. What the hell? Wasn't Dean supposed to be searching for some missing student? Could this be a real, uh, law enforcement officer, who happened to look similar? Or exactly like Dean?

Sam picked up his beer and carried it up to the bar. He leaned against the far edge, trying to overhear what was being said to the bartender. The bartender kept shaking his head and shrugging. The dude with the strange shades pulled a photo out of his pocket to shove in the man's face, but the bartender kept shaking his head. Even to Sam, who couldn't hear any of the conversation, the bartender seemed to be making too much of it. The bartender knew something about that photo.

Shades slapped the guy who looked like Dean in the shoulder and nodded at the door. Dean flipped the ID closed with one hand while pulling a business card out of his pocket with the other. The bartender was still shaking his head, but Dean shoved the card across the bar at him anyway. He gave the other two men he was with a curt nod and Shades led them out.

As the door closed Sam realized he hadn't spoken, hadn't even tried to attract his own brother's attention. Crap! Sam abandoned his beer to race for the door. He burst out onto the street, but the three men were gone. Damn it.

Business card. Sam would bet even money that card had Dean's cell number on it. At least then he would know for sure if it was Dean or someone who looked incredibly like him.

He hurried back inside. His beer waited on the far end of the bar and the bartender was scowling at the business card. The fat bartender crumbled it up and tossed it under the bar. Sam retrieved his beer and moved closer to the side of the bar where the card had been thrown away. By waiting patiently, Sam found an opportunity when the bartender left to grab some supplies from the back. Smoothly, he stepped behind the bar and tipped the trash can so he could peer inside it. There next to some beer-soaked coasters and used lime wedges was the crumpled remains of the card. Sam fished it out. He tossed a twenty on the bar as he left, attempting to smooth out the creases in the card. It was Dean's number. Damn. What the hell was his brother up to and who were those guys?

When his cell went off, Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. It was just Jess wondering why he was late for dinner. Sam made up an excuse about going further on his walk than he intended and losing track of time. She didn't sound convinced, but she didn't question him either.

* * *

"Well?" Summers demanded as they rounded the car. "What about the bartender?"

Dean gazed over thoughtfully. "You noticed it too, huh? He denied seeing Bobby too much. And man, was he nervous. I think he believed we were about to break out the cuffs."

"So he has Bobby?" Logan demanded.

"Maybe." Dean shrugged and checked his watch. "We'll find out in about six hours."

Both men with him paused in their actions, freezing with the car doors open and their eyes locked on him.

"That's when the bar closes," Dean explained. "I figure we should make a little follow-up visit."

They both nodded seriously. "And in the meantime," Summers said in a strong voice, "let's go change into something more comfortable."

Dean shot the team leader a glare. "Dude, if you wear that stupid spandex outfit, you're going in without me."

A slight grin appeared. "Is that all it would take?" Summers asked.

Logan dropped into the back seat. "Knock it off," he growled. "So what do we do for six hours?"

Dean loosened his tie as he started up the Impala. "Grab some dinner, drive around a little, get the lay of the land, and see where the back entrance to the bar is and what kind of cheese-ball lock it has."

"Now that's a good idea," Summers replied with a nod. "Hunter, how many of these gray-area skills do you have?"

Dean shrugged, though he was pleased by the question. "Dude, not a boy scout."

Logan chuckled from behind him.

"I don't suppose you caught a whiff of Bobby in there?" Dean asked, pulling the car out on the street.

"Too much beer," Logan said with a sigh. "The alcohol tends to mask scents."

Dean shrugged again. "Then it's the hard way. No sweat."

"You know, Hunter, you're not so bad," Summers told him.

"Gee, Cyclops, wish I could say the same," Dean snarked back to another deep chuckle from Logan.

A neon sign a few blocks down caught his eye. Dean drove towards it, not quite believing what he saw. "Dude, check it out. A family pool hall? Oh, we gotta check this place out after we find Bobby."

"Once we find Bobby," Summers promised slowly, "assuming he's fine, we'll go anywhere you want."

Dean glanced over in surprise at the uncharacteristic generous offer. Usually Summers liked to be cajoled into going to a place he or Logan liked, but the guy was serious. Dead serious.

"O-kay," Dean replied. He exchanged confused glances in the rear-view mirror with Logan, no help from there.

* * *

Hunter was a good codename for Dean. Scott almost felt sorry for the bartender because Hunter was after him. He had a feeling this hunter usually tracked down his prey.

Hunter opened the lock on the back door during last call. They waited in the alley behind the bar, Logan with one ear pressed against the door. With one hand Logan motioned to them. Scott followed Hunter, leaving the skulking to the experts.

They slipped through the back door silently. Hunter checked the back areas first while Logan stood guard. Hunter shook his head, an intense expression on his face. Logan motioned to the front, the bar area. Hunter nodded, following Logan this time as he held a gun tightly in one hand. Where had that come from?

Logan rounded the bar, cutting off the bulky bartender's escape out the front door. Hunter blocked the back way out. He motioned for Scott to take over.

Well, he was the team leader. Scott walked up to face the man.

"Oh, the feds," the fat man muttered. His meaty face scrunched up in distaste. "Look, I know I have rights. You can't just walk in here, not without a warrant. You got a warrant?"

Hunter laughed darkly, exchanging a knowing look with Logan. "Dude, he thinks we need a warrant."

Logan snorted loudly, pulling out one of his cigars to chew on. "I got a warrant for 'im."

"Cyclops, do you want the warrant?" Hunter asked, slipping his gun into his back waistband. Summers gave him an odd look. "What? I don't need a gun for this joker." Hunter shrugged. "The kid isn't here, that means we can have a little fun with him." He winked.

Oh, God, Hunter had a plan. Scott shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said slowly.

"Yeah," Logan added, "you 'member what happened last time." He made a sour face. "And I had to clean that up."

Hunter glared at him. "You didn't clean anything up. We left it for the buzzards."

The burly bartender paled, color draining rapidly from his face. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a horrible idea. What could he do to help?

"Not that," Logan snapped irritability. "I'm talkin' about your knife. Kid, you got any idea what I had ta search through ta find that thing? If it hadn't been your favorite..." He shook his head slowly.

"I thanked you," Hunter growled. "Wasn't that enough? Besides, who bought you the flame-thrower? Huh?"

Logan's grin was cold and merciless. "Yeah. Nice."

No wonder these two could give him a migraine. "Gentlemen? We're here about Bobby?" Scott reminded them as if he believed they could have forgotten.

"He ain't here," Logan growled, the grin slipping away. "You know the rules, boss. That means me an' Hunter c'n play."

"Only if he doesn't talk," Scott argued, trying to go along with their 'plan'.

"Oh, he's not going to talk," Hunter assured Scott. His shoulders rolled as he twisted and popped his neck. "Me and Fuzzy get to play. You promised." Hunter shot him a hard glare. "You said we could play with the next one bein' uncooperative." He slowly pulled a knife from a wrist sheath with a wicked grin.

The burly bartender's face was sheet-white now and sweat dripped from his brow down the sides of his face. His eyes darted between Hunter and the door as he swallowed compulsively. His hands opened and closed quickly as he clearly contemplated an escape.

Scott sighed deeply, realizing this was working and he needed to up the stakes if they were going to learn anything useful. "I guess I did say that. All right, but I won't watch this time. Last time made me sick and I haven't had dinner yet. Come out when you're finished with him. Or when he's finished, whichever comes first." He turned away as if he were planning to leave the way they had come in.

"Wait!" the man shouted at his back. "You ain't asked me nothing yet! How do you know if I'll cooperate if you don't ask?"

"We asked earlier," Hunter said in a slow, dangerous tone. "You didn't know anything about a kid. This tall." His hand hovered in the air at Bobby's height. "Short blond hair. Runaway."

The bartender was huffing and puffing, his eyes wide and wild. Scott hoped the guy didn't have a heart attack until after they heard the information.

"He was just a mutant," the bartender huffed. "A nobody."

"What do you know about mutants?" Scott snapped, alarmed.

Hunter shot him a hard look. "Where is the nobody?" he demanded, his gaze dragging slowly from Scott to the pale, sweating informant.

Sweat leaked down the sides of the fat sheet-white face. He swallowed compulsively, looking over to Logan of all people. "Who do I answer?" he whispered.

Logan snorted. "If I was you, I'd answer the one with the knife."

Hunter flipped his silver blade in the air and caught it expertly. Nice effect, Scott had to admit.

"Warehouse. Route Nine. The old cereal factory, been abandoned for years. But they got people guarding him. Now I told you. I helped. That means you won't kill me, right?" He looked positively frantic.

Hunter turned his back on the fat bartender to whisper to Scott. "What else do you want? He'll tell us anything right now."

"Find out if he's part of the anti-mutant movement," Scott whispered back.

Hunter nodded at the back exit. "Then leave. We'll be out in five minutes. If it takes any longer, blast out the back wall."

"Why do I need to leave?" Scott asked, his voice barely audible.

"Because he needs to be more afraid of us than them," Hunter hissed.

All right, that sounded like good strategy. He hoped. "Five minutes," Scott repeated, loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. "No more."

"Wait!" he heard the bartender yell as Scott walked away. "Where's he going? I'm cooperating! Hey, you! Come back! Wait!"

Exactly three minutes and forty-five seconds later Hunter and Logan walked out the back door of the bar, both wearing the kind of grins that made Scott feel uneasy.

"I can't believe that worked," Logan said with a deep chuckle. "Kid, you oughta be in a straight-jacket."

Hunter laughed at the suggestion. "Dude, I'd just break out. Now let's go before somebody finds him."

"Finds him?" Scott asked, alarmed. "What do you mean, finds him?"

"We couldn't leave 'im loose," Logan said indignantly. "He coulda called somebody, warned 'em we're coming."

Yeah. Right. That much was true. But... "What did you two do?" He started back for the bar, but Hunter and Logan each grabbed an arm to hustle him to the car.

"No time," Hunter snapped. "We need to find Bobby, and then I'm gonna wring that kid's neck."

"One of you had better tell me what happened in there!" Scott insisted.

"In the car," Hunter replied with a shove at the passenger door.

With a lingering look at the back entrance to the bar, Scott dropped into the passenger seat. Logan sat in the back, again. At first Scott had assumed Logan was deferring to his position as team lead by sitting in the back, but after being on the road searching for Bobby Drake with these two for a few days, he now suspected it was because Logan was the one Hunter trusted at his back. And vice-versa. When Logan drove Hunter sat in back. Scott never drove. He appeared to be permanently relegated to the front passenger seat.

Once they were traveling out on the street headed for route nine, Scott turned to glare at Hunter. "Well?"

Hunter scowled. "You were right, he's part of the anti-mutant movement. It's growing. And stop worrying about the asshole, he's just duct-taped to one of the chairs, that's all."

Logan chuckled from over the back of the seat. "That ain't all. Fat bastard needs a change o' pants, too."

They shared a chuckle.

"But you didn't do any permanent physical damage, right?" Scott demanded.

Both men rolled their eyes at him. Relieved, Scott blew out the breath he had been holding.

"Won't make that promise for the warehouse," Logan pointed out.

"I wouldn't expect it," Scott replied defensively. "Assuming Bobby is in there, if they try to use force I expect you two to react appropriately."

"Meaning we can kick ass, right?" Hunter asked.

"Yes," Scott replied.

Hunter shot a grin over his shoulder at Logan. "Like old times, huh, Fuzzy?"

"Hope not, kid," Logan replied with a snort. "I had ta carry your sorry ass out last time."

* * *

The plan was for Summers and Logan to create a diversion while he slipped in the back and found Bobby. Easier said than done, of course. First off, this was a freaking abandoned factory. It wasn't like there were a lot of normal doors. There was one on the front and in the back were a couple of truck loading bays. Not exactly a quiet way to enter the building. The only door on this side was a cinch to unlock, but it was barred from the inside so Dean couldn't budge it. He walked around to the far side of the building. There was one window on the first floor.

Dean checked it out. It looked like alarm wires were attached to the window. Down near the end of the building was a metal box protruding from the wall. With any luck it would be for the alarm. Dean popped open the padlocked box in a few seconds. Yahtzee! Alarm wires. He figured out which ones were for the exterior. Banking on the fact any interior alarm should be off, Dean cut only the wires for windows and doors. This way if the assholes inside noticed, they would think a circuit had blown, otherwise all hell would break loose a little early.

He returned to the window. It had mesh wire on the inside to prevent burglary. Using his pocketknife, he worked the lock open. Dean drew a deep breath before raising the window. No alarm. Relieved, he pocketed his knife before climbing through. Leaving the window slightly open as an escape route, Dean headed into the dark factory, his senses tuned for Bobby's captors.

* * *

Hot. He was so damn hot. This was Hell. If Hell really existed, he was there. Bobby's vision swam when he tried to look around. The faces of the strangers keeping him here were so blurry they all looked alike to him.

Bobby tried to move away from the heat, instinctively seeking out cold, but his hands caused a clanging noise when he pulled away.

"Stay, boy!" a man's voice barked at him. Bobby heard a sharp slapping noise and his head faced the other way, the skin on his cheek stinging harshly.

"Damn mutant," another voice, a nasty one, growled. "Don't know why we have to keep it alive."

"Because the Reverend wants him alive." This one was cool and cultured, like a professor.

God, he wished Professor Hunter were here. He really wished he had never left the Institute. Sure, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, only right now Bobby could not for the life of him remember why. The men in the room talked to each other and moved around some, but they blurred together so much Bobby couldn't tell how many there were. After a while he couldn't even tell the voices apart any more and the heat was horrible. He hoped to pass out or fall asleep so he wouldn't have to feel it.

When the noises started Bobby did not bother to look at first. It was just more of his kidnappers doing who knew what. His head hung down and he prayed for unconsciousness, any escape. His hands and forearms burned, heat searing through his skin into his very soul. He knew there should be tears rolling down his face from the pain, but his eyes were too dry to produce them. He would die soon, hopefully before the pain grew much worse.

The noises became louder, voices harsher and louder. He couldn't lift his head to see, so Bobby concentrated on the sounds. Voices cursed. Harder and sharper sounds, wood breaking, the snap of fists on bare skin, the solid thump of impact with a human body, filled the room. Then quiet descended. For a moment Bobby wondered if he had passed out or the heat made him deaf. Did that make sense?

Coolness touched his wrist and Bobby gasped at the sudden change.

"He's awake," a man's voice said. "Hang on, kid. I'll have these cuffs off in no time. Crap, this is hot!"

Yeah. No kidding.

His arms were lowered gently, away from the horrible heat. Bobby felt his body lifted and carried away.

"We need to cool him down," another voice said. These voices sounded comfortable. Maybe he knew them, but Bobby couldn't open his eyes to make sure. All he knew for certain was the horrible heat was gone and for that he was eternally grateful.

He was placed on a padded seat, his head held in a lap. Bobby concentrated on breathing, keeping a steady in and out. His arms still hurt and ached and burned, but not like before. No, this was almost heaven compared with before. Maybe these were good people.

"Got it!" one of the men's voices shouted triumphantly.

"They're going to think we're crazy, wanting to stick a kid in their freezer."

"Don't worry about it, I'll handle it."

Again Bobby was carried from the padded seat into a place with bright lights. He heard men's voices talking, but they were making less and less sense. Oh, if only he could sleep and escape this pain.

"Hang on, Bobby," a deep voice whispered. "We got what you need."

There was a hissing noise and then...

Cool. Cold. He could breathe. Refreshing iciness flowed over his skin. He felt himself lowered to the freezing floor. Bobby breathed deeply, pulling the chilled air deep in his lungs. He stretched out on the floor, attempting to make as much contact with the wonderful cold as he could. Even his scorched arms felt better. After a few minutes Bobby was able to roll on his stomach and press a still hot cheek against the freezing metal floor. He sighed with relief.

"Better?"

He opened his eyes to a view of gallons of ice cream and boxes of frozen Popsicles. A pair of boots stood near his head and another pair by his waist. Bobby rotated his gaze up to see Mister Summers, Logan and Professor Hunter all looking down at him. Professor Hunter squatted next to his head.

"I said, is it better?"

Bobby grunted in agreement and closed his eyes again, relishing the cold.

"He may need a while in here. Hunter, can you arrange it?" Mister Summers asked.

"On it. Hey, any of you want something to eat? I'm gonna grab a sandwich out there."

"I'll take one, kid."

"Summers?"

"No, thanks. I'm good."

Bobby had the desire to dive head first into a huge vat of ice cream. He rolled his forearms on the floor, wishing for a tub of ice water.

"Ice," he managed to whisper through his raw throat.

"I got it."

An eternity later, Bobby was showered with hard pellets. Wonderful, glorious ice! The raging heat in his skin ebbed. He heard the rustle of plastic and there was another shower of ice over his body. Bobby relaxed into it, drawing strength from the cold. Never before had he appreciated ice more than this moment.

"Ah, crap. I'll go pay for those. How many bags do you think we need? To cover him?"

"Four more?"

"I'll pay for six."

Yes! More! Soon he felt the weight of the ice all over his back. Bobby mentally drew it closer wanting it to surround him, to put out the residual fire lingering in his arms and face. Slowly the cold seeped into his skin, into the heat, soothing the fire. He couldn't tell how long he laid there under all that ice and he did not care. It felt so good!

"Uh, Logan? Summers? Is that supposed to happen?"

"Ah, that's new."

A hot hand touched his shoulder and Bobby cringed from it.

"Oh, sorry, Bobby. Are you all right? Listen, kid, we really need to hear from you."

Regretting having to move from his ice cocoon, Bobby pushed off of the floor. Oddly, he felt just as wonderously cool here as there. Bobby turned over and opened his eyes to see three of his teachers watching him with worried faces. Mister Summers kneeled next to him and Professor Hunter was squatting next to his shoulder.

Logan stood by his feet. "New look for you."

"Huh?" Bobby reached up to rub his head, but instead of hair he felt a smooth and cold surface. Slowly Bobby lowered his hand to in front of his face. It was white and smooth, like ice. Bobby flexed his hand, shocked when the ice covering his fingers bent like skin instead of cracking. "Wicked."

Professor Hunter grunted. "He likes it. I don't think he's going to help reverse it."

Mister Summers sighed. "Bobby, we can't walk out of here with you looking like this."

"Not without some ice cream and Logan driving us back to the motel," Professor Hunter said.

Mister Summers glared back. "Oh, you have to be kidding."

"Dude, when was the last time someone noticed your glasses?" Professor Hunter asked with a raised eyebrow. Bobby could see that his teacher had a red mark beside one eye.

"Hunter, you're good. There's no doubt about that. But do you honestly believe you can convince those people out there that Bobby isn't an iceman?" Mister Summers sported a couple of blotchy purplish-red marks on the right side of his face.

Professor Hunter grinned. "Looks like we're going to find out. I'm going to grab a couple of ice cream sandwiches, you all hang tight."

Bobby looked to Mister Summers. "I'm totally covered? Really?"

Mister Summers shrugged and motioned to his legs. Yep. Solid ice. Bobby stood up carefully and tested out his icy legs. They were really sturdy. He felt his face, cold and smooth. Man, this was bizarre. But very cool.

"I wonder if my clothes are still on under all of this?" he asked, twisting around trying to see his backside. "Man, it kind of looks like I'm naked, huh?"

Mister Summers sighed again. "Covered with ice, and he's worried about looking like he's naked. Bobby, we need to have a long discussion about your priorities." He looked a little ticked off.

"Later," Logan snapped. "First we need ta get outta here. Where the hell is that kid?"

"'m 'ere," Professor Hunter mumbled, his cheek bulging. "'mon." He motioned for them to come with him.

"Bobby's with me," Mister Summers said. "We'll follow Hunter. Logan, bring up the rear." He glanced over his shoulder. "And try not to kill anybody."

Logan took out an unlit cigar and shoved it in the corner of his mouth with a grunt. Bobby stepped out of the large walk-in freezer wondering if he would melt the instant he was outside of the frigid air. They were in the back of an all night convenience store. The clerk stood behind the counter and there were a couple of people inside buying stuff like beer. Professor Hunter rolled his shoulders real big and popped his neck.

He strode over to the counter and pulled out his wallet. "Dude, thanks for letting us use the freezer. The kid was having one of those fever seizures. You probably saved his life." Professor Hunter tossed some money on the counter. "We appreciate it."

The clerk picked up the money and held it out. "Oh, I can't take this, sir. I'm just glad I could help."

Professor Hunter took back the money, tilting his head toward the door. Bobby hurried out the front door with Mister Summers, Logan close behind them.

"You're some kind of hero, you know that?" Professor Hunter's voice followed them out the door.

Mister Summers walked up to an old big black car and opened the passenger door.

"Uh, what's with the old boat?" Bobby asked.

Both of his teachers turned around to give him shocked expressions.

"It's Hunter's," Mister Summers told him. "And if you value your life, you won't call it that again."

"He ain't kiddin'," Logan added.

"In that case," Bobby eyed the leather interior, "you don't think I'll hurt the seat, do you?"

"Got it covered," Professor Hunter hollered from behind them. Bobby turned around to see him holding up some garbage bags. "You'll sit on these, and if you break my seat I'm taking it out of your hide. If it ever thaws."

"Summers, we're in the back," Hunter told the others. Bobby waited feeling slightly anxious while the instructors climbed into the back seat. Professor Hunter motioned impatiently once they were inside. He took off his jacket and tossed it to Logan. "Put that over the seat first, then the bag. Bobby, don't lean back."

Logan did what Professor Hunter asked and Bobby sat on the crinkly plastic, which froze almost instantly to his butt. Great. Bobby marveled at his ice-coated hands and arms, amazed that all of the burning was just gone. He couldn't see or feel any evidence of it.

"How bad were my arms burned?" he asked.

He was answered by a snore from the back. Confused, Bobby glanced at the back seat. Professor Hunter leaned against the rear driver's window, mouth open and eyes closed.

"Pretty bad," Mister Summers said with a glance at Hunter. "Ignore him. He's always like this right after a strenuous altering."

"Altering?" Bobby asked, his gaze shifting to Mister Summers. "What's that mean?"

"Ya know how Hunter is real good at fittin' in?" Logan asked.

"Yeah?" Bobby glanced at his combat instructor.

"He can do it for all of us," Mister Summers answered. "No one ever asks about my glasses when I'm with him. Honestly, I think Logan and I could wear our uniforms and he could make it so no one noticed."

"Uniforms?" Bobby squeaked. "You have uniforms?"

"No uniform," Professor Hunter mumbled against the window. "Spandex is for chicks."

Mister Summers sighed. "Is he still worried about the uniform thing?" he asked Logan. "I thought he was over it now that they're solid black."

Logan shrugged. "You shoulda seen it when I showed him saw my old one. Thought the kid was gonna hurt himself laughin'." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the back seat. "He's been raggin' my ass about agreein' to wear it ever since."

"It's that good, huh?" Bobby asked with a grin. "I'd love to see that."

Logan shot him a hard look. "This from the naked ice-guy."

The big car swung off the road into a motel parking area. Logan parked around the back. After the car had been parked and the engine turned off, Logan turned around to grab Professor Hunter's shoulder. "Kid! Wake up, we're there."

Professor Hunter blinked slow. "Don't let Bobby touch the door."

"On it," Logan said. He opened the door to hop out and run around to Bobby's side. Logan opened Bobby's door for him. "Come on, brat."

Bobby grimaced before climbing out of the car. As he suspected the garbage bag stuck, frozen to his backside. While the other men exited the large car, Bobby tried to peel the black plastic off of him but it froze to his hand, too. By the time they walked inside one of the motel rooms, shredded black plastic hung from his hands and his butt.

Professor Hunter rubbed his eye with one fist. "How're the arms?" he asked with a sleepy yawn.

Bobby held out his ice-white arms. "Great. No more burning."

Hunter snorted at his arms. "Guess not." His eyes were bloodshot and he looked dead on his feet. The mark by his eye was a lot darker now too. "Dude, all we have is two doubles. Logan and I are taking that one." He gestured at the bed by the door. "If you don't want to sleep with Icy, you work it out."

He sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his boots. Then Hunter flopped back on the bed, fully clothed without pulling back the covers. Within seconds his breathing deepened.

"Whoa," Bobby breathed, shocked by his teacher passing out so quickly.

"Watch it, brat," Logan snapped. "You woulda been toast without him."

"Logan is right, Bobby. And I think I'll check with the office to see if they have a roll-away," Mister Summers said. He shook his head at Bobby. "I'm not fond of frostbite."

Logan pointed to a chair as Mister Summers walked out. Bobby sat in the chair and Logan sat facing him from the second bed. Logan glared at him long and hard until Bobby thought he might start sweating through his ice.

"Why'd you run?" he finally demanded.

"I'm not sure," Bobby admitted. Logan's glare turned hot. "I mean, when I left it seemed like the right thing to do, but now I'm not sure why."

"That ain't a answer," Logan growled.

Bobby shrugged. "Look, I had a nightmare, okay? It was about my mom, so I figured..." He shrugged again.

Logan leaned forward, eyes locked on him. "And you figured us dumb adults, who knew enough ta put tha whole school under a supernatural lock-down, would never 'ave believed a dumb story like that, right?"

"You know, when you put it like that, you make me sound stupid," Bobby observed.

"As long as you have it figured out now." Logan shook his head slowly. "I'm tellin' you, you're damned lucky Hunter is sleepin'. And that, you know, you're covered in ice."

"Why?" Bobby asked slowly.

Logan snorted, taking his chewing cigar out of his mouth to shove in his shirt pocket. "If you gotta ask, then your father didn't do his job worth a damn." He nodded at Professor Hunter. "Looks like it's bed time. I got to, uh..." He motioned at the bathroom. "Try not ta melt all over the place."

Bobby watched the closed bathroom door until he heard a knock at the front door.

"Hey! Somebody open up!" Mister Summers shouted.

"Bobby, don't you touch that door!" Logan snapped from inside the bathroom. "DEAN!"

Professor Hunter jumped awake, his eyes snapping open and his gaze darting around rapidly. "Huh? What?"

"Let me in!" Mister Summers shouted again.

Professor Hunter grunted as he rolled off the bed. "Couldn't be a teek, could he? Nah. Had to have laser eyes. Lasers can't open a frigging door, can they?" He yanked the door open to reveal a bed folded upright in thirds with Mister Summers pushing it from behind.

"I could hear you," Mister Summers said reproachfully. "Now give me a hand."

Professor Hunter grabbed the close side of the bed and helped pull it into the room. They opened it up in the middle, between the two beds.

"You'll sleep here," Mister Summers announced to Bobby. "That way we can all keep an eye on you."

"We found him," Professor Hunter replied in a surly voice. "You keep an eye on him."

"Don't," Logan said in warning to Mister Summers as he pushed open the bathroom door. He waved at Professor Hunter with the white towel in his hands. "He needs food and sleep. Makes him cranky." Logan fixed Bobby's favorite teacher with a glare. "Go to bed."

"I was in bed!" Hunter protested like a kid talking back to an adult. "You woke me up!"

"So go back ta bed," Logan said calmly. Hunter glared at him. "Or do ya want ta be tucked in?"

Hunter gave him a dirty look before collapsing back on the bed. "I'm not cranky," he mumbled, one arm flopping over his face to cover his eyes. "Turn the damn light off."

"Real cranky," Logan muttered, drying his hands with the towel.

* * *

Bobby woke feeling blissfully relaxed. The bed was soft and cozy, even though it felt a little warm. An adult male voice spoke softly.

"Yeah, real cranky. Look, it'll take at least twenty minutes to go for some grub, so I was hopin'... It would help out a lot. … Nah, won't happen. Talkin' to you always puts him in a good mood."

Bobby opened his eyes. Logan sat at the small table in the room talking on a cell phone. Huh. Logan knew how to use a cell phone. Would wonders never cease?

"Thanks, lady. I'll owe ya one." Logan smiled. "Yeah, gimme a minute ta wake him."

Logan walked over to the bed where Professor Hunter was still sleeping soundly. "Hey!" he barked, one foot bouncing on the side of the bed.

Professor Hunter moved swiftly, a glint of light the only indication of the hunting knife held fast in his hand.

"Easy, kid, I like this shirt," Logan growled, thrusting the cell phone in the professor's face. "You got a call."

Professor Hunter frowned at the phone, his hand holding the knife dropping to his side. He took the phone with his free hand and pressed it against his ear. "Hello?"

A wide smile broke out on Professor Hunter's face. "Hey, Baby. I was planning to call you tonight. What's going on?"

Logan rolled his eyes. "I'm goin' for food," he announced. "Three helpin's of everything I c'n find for you." He pointed at Hunter who nodded in reply. "What about you, Bobby?"

"Hey, he looks normal. What happened?" Professor Hunter asked, the phone dropping temporarily from his ear. "Huh? Yeah, baby, we found him."

Mister Summers walked out of the bathroom with a billow of steam. "Guess he just needed a good night's sleep. Pancakes and eggs, with a side of bacon for me. Bobby?"

Bobby looked down at his normal skin tone. He ran his hands over his regular clothes, complete with all the stains and tears from his captivity. Well, at least he wasn't naked, right?

"Hey, brat," Logan snapped at him. "Whaddya want? Or are ya gonna starve?"

"Oh, uh, pancakes and sausage, I guess."

"Back in a few." Logan seemed to be in a rush to leave.

"What's with him?" Mister Summers asked, jerking his head towards the closed front door. Bobby shrugged.

"Nah," Professor Hunter said into the phone, settling back on the bed with one arm behind his head, "found him hiding out in some abandoned warehouse. Almost starvin', but he'll be fine." His arm came out from behind his head, one hand pulling down the sleeve over the forearm of the arm holding up his cell phone. He raised one eyebrow at Bobby.

Bobby held up both arms, no signs of burns, no scarring, nothing. Hunter exchanged a shrug with Mister Summers. Mister Summers examined his arms turning them over and back.

"Huh," he muttered, "a little bruising around the wrists from the cuffs, but that's all. We'll have to talk to Doctor McCoy about it back at the Institute." Mister Summers gave him a hard look. "Any idea how you went solid ice like that?"

Bobby shook his head. "But it felt great." He felt easy and relaxed as a smile slid on to his face. "Really great."

Mister Summers smiled back. "I'll bet. Is it me, or does this room seem, I don't know, more comfortable today?"

"You noticed it too?" Bobby asked. "Man, I thought it was just me."

"I should remember this place," Mister Summers said, really checking the room out.

"Sure, we can hit the blues club," Professor Hunter said to whoever he was on the phone with. "First weekend I'm back, promise." He chuckled and the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Better believe it, baby."

Mister Summers glanced over at Professor Hunter, stretched out with an easy smile. "You know, there's a phone call I should make." He looked at Bobby. "But it's not something you need to hear." He nodded at the occupied bed. "Honestly I don't approve of you hearing this."

Bobby grinned. "Do I have to wait outside?"

Mister Summers glowered at him. "Only if you want sunlight to become a fond memory."

He sighed. "So how much trouble am I in?"

"We'll discuss that after breakfast," Mister Summers replied staunchly. "Hunter and Logan were responsible for finding you, they should have a say in your punishment."

"Me too, Baby. See you soon." Professor Hunter closed his cell with a wide, bright smile.

"Hot date?" the headmaster asked with a gentle smile.

"Oh, yeah." His head snapped to the side, in the direction of the door. Professor Hunter rolled quickly off the bed and rushed to open the door. Logan never even had a chance to knock. "Took you long enough."

Logan carried in large white plastic bags which smelled like real food. Bobby's mouth watered as his nose was assaulted with the scents of bacon, sausage, pancakes, hot syrup, and egg. Logan passed an entire bag over to Professor Hunter. "Yours."

He set the second bag on the small table in the room. "Ours."

Bobby waited anxiously while Logan set out the white styrofoam containers. "Why does he get his own bag?"

"You never seen him eat?" Logan demanded. "Don't get between Hunter and food, brat. You'll live longer."

"Ha-ha," came Professor Hunter's slightly muffled reply.

Bobby turned around. Professor Hunter sat on the bed shoveling in food, chewing as fast as the fork would move. He turned back to the table and Logan. "Thanks," he whispered. Logan winked in reply.


	70. Chapter 70: Visiting Mutants

**Chapter 70 – Visiting Mutants**

Sam sat up at least half of the night, following up on dead-end after dead-end. There were plenty of rumors about the Xavier Institute and the kids who went there. They both seemed to have 'mysterious' events happening, but nothing concrete. None of it fit a simple pattern either, what he would expect if the place were haunted or the stomping grounds of a demon.

He raked his hands through his hair, frustrated. What made Dean, Dad, Bobby and Pastor Jim all believe, without a doubt, that a demon was stalking the students of this school? What proof did they have? He could call and ask. Bobby or Pastor Jim might be persuaded to tell him. Heck, Dad might. He had the impression his family had been holding back on New Year's, that there was another piece of the puzzle and Dad wanted him know about it.

With startling clarity, Bobby's voice rang in his mind: _If you want to know what's really going on, you'll either haveta figure out what kind of school that institute really is, or ask Dean. _

The school was the key. At least with Jess sleeping on a totally different floor, he wouldn't disturb her by making phone calls in the middle of the night. There was always someone at the police department.

"Salem Center PD," a disinterested voice answered. "How may I direct your call?"

"Detectives?" he asked.

"No, sir," the voice replied, sounding annoyed. "Which department?"

Good question. "Actually, I was wondering if there was anyone I could talk to about the Xavier Institute."

Deep sigh. "Another one? Please hold while I transfer you."

Another one. Sam wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a bad one.

"Xavier Institute, right?" a deep, bass male voice demanded. "What's your complaint?"

"Actually, I don't have one," Sam replied. "I'm writing a paper about the Institute and my mentor is always on me about not doing enough background investigation."

The cop made a disgruntled noise. "At three in the morning? You're a college student right?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, smiling at the fact this was working.

"Figures." He sighed. "My son stays up studying most nights. He's an engineering major. All right, son, fire away."

Yes! "On average, how many complaints about the institute do you receive?" he asked.

"Per day or week?" the officer asked wearily. "Look, I don't know what it is about that place, but they have had most of the community on edge. The general open house they had over a month ago helped, cut the number of complaints in half."

"Open house?" Sam asked, beginning to regret not going. "I don't suppose you went?"

"Actually I did," he replied. "It was real well done and they even gave stuff away, like front door mats and those decorative garden rocks. My wife didn't like 'em at first, the funny markings made her nervous, but then they explained the markings were ancient protection symbols. I even took one of those rocks up to my son's university and asked his professor about it. He did a little research for us and confirmed it, an ancient pre-Christ protection symbol. Said it was just superstitious nonsense, of course, but the wife felt better about it."

Sam felt a strange chill all over his skin. "They were just giving stuff like that away? No charge?"

"Yeah. Real nice, huh? I thought maybe the school was planning on starting a store and selling that kind of thing. I was already having Legal look into the kind of permits they'd need, and the regulations concerning it being a school, but that was it. They want to give it away. No laws about that. Matter of fact, I hear you can go up to the school on a Saturday, ring the bell and ask for one of those gifts, and a school secretary will bring it right out to you. You can't get a tour, but they'll still give you any of the things you ask for. Guess there is as much money behind it as it looks."

"Guess so," Sam replied. "Uh, but you seem to handle all complaints about the Xavier Institute. Why? What kind of complaints are there?"

It must have been a slow night in North Salem, because the officer talked for a while. Sam had expected reports of wild, unruly students, but that did not even make the list. The officer's descriptions made Sam more concerned, not less. Bizarre rumors of monsters, never proven, no evidence except for some blurry photos that were a lot like those bogus bigfoot sightings. Strange and unusual weather around the school, it almost never rained except for a gentle shower which lasted exactly one hour during morning classes. Specific people on the payroll and students on the rolls who never left the school grounds. Evidence of military-style attacks against the school but never any witnesses and anyone interviewed the next day always acted as if nothing unusual had happened.

"A few times the school has called in reports of someone watching from across the street. They always claim to be concerned about child predators, so we go over and run off whoever it is. Doesn't happen all that often and I have the feeling they could take care of anyone who actually made it on to school grounds," the officer told him.

"Really?" Sam asked. "What makes you say that?"

"I went to the open house," the peace officer repeated, this time in a stern tone. "I've met those teachers. If they all have a college degree, I'll eat my badge. Especially that phys ed teacher."

"I don't suppose you have his name?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Hmph. Logan," he replied. "I don't recall them mentioning a first name, but the school is accredited, we checked that out."

"Thanks," Sam replied with an uneasy feeling. "You've been a big help."

He tried Dean's cell again. Straight to voicemail, damn it. He would try again in the morning before calling in the cavalry, Dad.

* * *

It was after nine in the morning. Dean's cell had been off all of last night, ringing directly over to voicemail. That could be a good sign, that they were close to finding the missing kid. Dean's appearance posing as a Fed last night had been rather disturbing, indicating that the boy had been taken rather than simply running away.

He decided to try calling again. Even Dean should be awake by now. Sam listened impatiently as Dean's phone rang once in his ear. He had spent a good portion of the night trying to research the Xavier Institute and what he had been able to dig up was...well...concerning. If he could talk to Dean about it, maybe there were simple explanations.

"Yeah?" his brother answered in a strong voice.

"Dean, what are you doing in Long Island?" Sam asked, not bothering with the usual 'how's it going' crap. Dad was right about one thing, that kind of stuff was a waste of time.

He heard the sound of a throat clearing. "What makes you think I'm in Long Island?"

"I saw you at that bar last night," Sam insisted. "Heck, I even went and picked up the card you left with the bartender to see if it was your cell number on it, which was turned off, by the way."

"It was?" Dean sounded surprised. "Nah, not until later."

Sam huffed. "All night, Dean."

"We were busy," Dean replied stiffly. "And what the hell were you doing in that bar? You're supposed to be two thousand miles away at school."

Sam shrugged, even though his brother couldn't see it. "Yeah, well, school doesn't start until Tuesday. Jess' parents flew us out for a kind of family birthday thing."

"Birthday?" Dean repeated. "Whose birthday?"

"Her dad's is next weekend and Jess' birthday is..." Sam chuckled as the realization hit him. "It's the same day as yours."

"You're kidding," Dean replied, followed by a sharp chuckle. "Hey, maybe that explains why she's so hot. She was born on the right day."

"Ha-ha," Sam replied. "So what were you busy doing last night?" he pressed.

"Finding Bobby." The statement was followed by a long yawn, as if just thinking about it were exhausting.

"Why?" Sam asked. "Was he missing too?"

"Huh? Oh, dude, no. Not our Bobby. Bobby Drake is the kid who ran away," Dean said. "He's fine, by the way."

Sam was slightly offended by the implication. "I was going to ask. Anyway, since you're here and the kid is found, why don't you come to dinner tonight? Missus Moore is putting on a huge spread."

"Oh, man, I don't know. We're supposed to head back today."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm willing to bet your classes don't start on the weekend, Dean. You can take a day to visit, right?"

"Tell you what," Dean said, not committing to dinner, "let me talk it over with the guys and I'll call you back."

"Soon?" Sam pressed.

"Ten minutes," his brother promised before hanging up.

Sam paced the guest room impatiently waiting for his brother's call. Jess popped in to interrupt his pacing.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "He still isn't answering?"

"He answered," Sam said tersely. "I invited them to join us tonight."

Her face lit up. "Really? What'd Dean say?"

Sam's pacing picked up. "That he'd talk it over with the guys and call me back."

"I hope he says yes," Jess told him. "That would be great, to finally meet your brother in person."

"Yeah, about that," Sam glanced at her as he continued to pace the length of the room, "don't be surprised if..."

"If he flirts with me," Jess finished the statement for him. "Yes, Sam. I know, you've warned me. I'm a big girl, I think I can handle it."

Sam paused, looking at her thoughtfully. "Maybe. Maybe not." He shrugged. "Dean can be pretty intense."

"Oh, stop worrying," she chided, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Besides, doesn't he have a girlfriend?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "So he says."

Before he could venture further into that topic, his phone went off in his hand. Sam snapped it open before it completed the first ring. "Dean?"

"Hey, Sam. Okay, it looks like we're all coming, if that's all right. Logan's only coming for the food, so make sure he gets seconds."

Sam let out the breath he had been holding. "No problem. Like I said, Missus Moore is putting on a huge spread."

Jess grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Sam nodded to confirm that they were coming. "How many of you are there?"

"Counting the kid, four."

Sam frowned even though he held up four fingers to Jess. She shrugged and nodded approval. "Uh, are you sure he wants to come? Doesn't he want to visit with his parents?"

"We're going there now. After we're done with the parents, we'll head your way. I need that address," Dean replied.

Sam rattled off the address still bothered by the fact the runaway was coming too. "But Dean," he protested, "I thought you said the kid was running away to go home? Why wouldn't he want to stay the night?"

"Hang on." Dean's tone dredged up a few memories Sam would prefer to remain buried. Sam heard the sounds of a door closing and roadway traffic picking up in the background. "Let's just say, this hasn't exactly been the greatest week of his life. He wants at least one of us in sight at all times until we make it back to the school. And honestly? I don't blame him. This demon is targeting him, Sam. I mean him specifically. Hell, it's scaring me and I'm not the target."

"It can't be that bad," Sam protested. Hearing Dean admit to being scared ranked right up there with profuse bleeding and dead-of-night emergency room visits. "You're exaggerating."

Dean sighed. It was his 'I-can't-believe-we-couldn't-save-them' sigh. Each time Sam heard it was one time too many. It wasn't being unable to save perfect strangers that bothered him the most, it was hearing the despair over it in his brother's sigh.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean replied. "How about I call you when we're leaving the kid's house? Give you a heads-up on when we'll be arriving?"

"Uh, sure. That'd be great. We're really looking forward to this, Dean," Sam added, hoping his big brother wouldn't try to ditch tonight. He wouldn't put it past Dean.

* * *

Bobby Drake sat stiffly in the front seat between Professor Hunter and Mister Summers. He dreaded going home. Yes, he **needed **to know that Mom was all right and to see for himself about Professor Hunter's friends demon-proofing his house. He doubted he would be able to sleep tonight unless he saw all of it with his own eyes. That being said, Bobby did not _want _to go.

Professor Hunter pulled into his driveway and parked next to Dad's car. Mister Summers opened the passenger door and stepped out. Logan swatted his shoulder. "Well? Go on, brat. Let your parents see you're alive."

He turned quickly to look at his two teachers. "You're not coming?"

"We'll be here when you come out," Professor Hunter promised. "Logan and I avoid crying women whenever we can."

Bobby shot a fearful glance at his house. "You think Mom will cry?"

"Better believe it," Logan said.

Then he felt a hand on his neck. Bobby turned his head to find Professor Hunter smiling at him. His teacher shook his shoulders a little, like he had a sudden chill, and the hand on Bobby's neck felt warmer. It wasn't a bad kind of heat, it felt calm and safe. Bobby closed his eyes and let the warmth rush over him. The weird jittery feeling he'd had since leaving the motel faded. It wasn't gone, just pushed into the background, but Bobby felt a hundred percent better.

"You'll live," his favorite teacher assured him when he opened his eyes. "Logan and I will still be right here standing guard over the house when you come out. All right?"

Bobby nodded, feeling a sense of loss when the hand pulled away from his neck. He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat before following Mister Summers out of the car.

"Keep that jacket on!" Professor Hunter shouted at his back. Bobby's hand automatically went to the zipper on the large wind-breaker he wore, borrowed from his teacher. His had been stupidly stuffed inside his backpack. There was no telling what that moron Bull had done with it.

* * *

The second the front door closed on the brat and Summers, Logan popped Dean in the shoulder. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"Ow," Dean whined, rubbing at his shoulder. "What'd I do now?"

"The shoulder thing," Logan growled. He jumped out of the back seat to join the kid up front. "You did somethin' to the Drake brat, didn't you?"

Dean made a sour face, still rubbin' his arm. "Not much. I just tried to take the edge off, that's all."

Logan glared. "Tell me you brought more of those energy bar things."

"Dude, I have four or five boxes in the trunk," Dean snapped. "Get off my case."

"Sounds like you need one now," he observed.

"Oh, yeah, because being hit in the arm would never put me in a mood, right?" Now the kid was glarin' at him.

"Hey," Logan swung an arm over the back of the seat as he turned to face his pain-in-the-ass friend, "that brat brought all this on himself. He's got whatever's comin' to him in there."

A lingering look at the house showed Dean didn't agree. "I don't know, Logan. Do you think Bobby did something to draw this demon's attention?"

"Nah," Logan said, waving off the stupid question. "It's just 'cause he's ice."

Dean's eyes shifted to him. "What?"

"This demon, he likes fire, right?" Logan asked. He waited for the kid to nod. "The brat is all about ice. I'd say they're natural enemies. They have to hate each other. The demon's probably tryin' to get in his licks while he can, before the brat can grow up and really learn to use his abilities."

The kid's eyes slammed shut and his head whipped back against the seat. "That's it!" His eyes flew open. "Logan, you're a freaking genius."

"'bout time somebody noticed," Logan agreed.

"On the way back we need to convince him to tell us everything that happened, even the stuff he doesn't want to talk about," Dean insisted.

"He's been holdin' back?" Logan asked. "You're sure?"

The kid's eyes rolled, callin' him stupid now. "Yes, I'm sure. It kind of goes with the whole crappy empath thing."

That made him chuckle. "Just like a girl."

"Shut up." Dean shook his head, looking out at the house again. "I'm pretty sure something really bad happened."

"And you ain't talkin' about bein' chained to a hot stove?" Logan asked, wonderin' what could be worse than that for an ice-kid.

"Before that," his friend replied in an even voice, "when he was being held at the bar. He mentioned that fat-ass bartender chaining him up in a back room and making him chill down the beer. Just thinking about it scared Bobby, and I'm talking about the kind of scared where you can't move or think, which doesn't really track with icing down a beer keg. Then he said the next thing that happened was when he was in the bathroom freezing the place over, I guess by that point he was desperate to escape. We need to find out what happened between the beer and the bathroom."

"Usually a lot of drinkin'," Logan said.

"Somehow I don't think it was that simple," the kid replied.

"Me neither," he admitted, shifting to check on the house. Maybe they needed to do a security sweep instead of just sittin' in the car.

* * *

Bobby had never been so glad to have Mister Summers around than when they walked into his house. After an hour of crying and hugging, which even included Dad (the hugging part), Mister Summers started talking about taking him back to school. Mom was dead-set against him leaving. Dad kept accusing his school of making him want to run away. Bobby tried to argue in defense of the Institute, but no one was listening to him.

It sure sounded like Mister Summers was losing this discussion, Dad's voice growing louder and angrier. Bobby wondered if he would have to run away from home to go the safest place for him, his school. His attention drifted away from the brewing argument which, if things went according to the usual way for Dad, would be full blown yelling and screaming in the next five minutes, tops.

His gaze landed on a shadowy shape outside the living room window. Bobby did not remember a tree right there. He stared intently, trying to figure out if it was a tree or bush or what, when it moved. It wasn't the wind blowing some branches around either, it was the outline of a man turning and waving an arm in the air. With a gasp, he dove behind Mister Summers wondering where the hell Professor Hunter and Logan were. Didn't they promise to watch the house? Did It get them?

Clutching Mister Summers' jacket in his hands and peering around his headmaster's waist while crouching low, Bobby watched the shadow, fully expecting it to crash through the window and come after him. A tremor ran through his body and he couldn't stop his hands from shaking.

"Maybe you should ask him to come inside," Mister Summers' voice barely filtered through his panic.

Bobby jumped again at the sound of the front door opening. He couldn't hear the words but he recognized his father's voice talking to someone, or some_thing_, outside. Then Professor Hunter walked into the house. Bobby found he could breathe again, and he didn't even realize how hard it had been until the air began to move freely through his chest. His hands still shook.

"Professor," he gasped. Bobby pointed out the window. "Don't do that!" His voice was loud in the quiet of the room. When had all the adults stopped arguing?

His favorite teacher shot Mister Summers' a questioning look.

"All he saw was a shadow," the headmaster replied.

"Ah," the professor said. He cocked his head to the side, at the family room. "Come on, kid. Show me around."

Far more relaxed with two of his three rescuers inside the house, Bobby released Mister Summers to give his teacher a short tour, right after whispering a quick "christo". Professor Hunter grinned and winked at him, motioning for Bobby to start with the upstairs. During the tour, Professor Hunter pointed out symbols carved in doorframes, lifted up area rugs to show demon trapping symbols, and silently pointed out every protection inside the house. By the time they returned his parents were making him promise to call, not run away, the next time he was worried about them.

When Bobby walked out the front door, Professor Hunter again showed him more protections in place. Highly relieved, not just from seeing that his house was well protected, Bobby walked in the middle of the three large men to the car. Once again he was allowed to ride in the front seat, surrounded by safety and protection.

"I don't know how you convinced them," Bobby said as the car pulled away from the curb.

Mister Summers gave him a startled look. "You had more to do with that than I did, Bobby. Your parents assumed you were afraid of us, because we're from the Institute. I don't think it ever occurred to them that you might see us as protecting you."

"Sorry I scared you," Professor Hunter said, pulling his cell out. "I was checking out the protections Jim and Bobby added to all the windows. They're pretty slick." He handed his phone over. "Hit the call button. My brother will answer. Tell him we're heading his way."

Bobby took the phone and wondered what his teacher's brother would be like. He made the call, a little surprised by how abrupt the brother was on the phone until Bobby identified himself. Then Sam asked how he was, like this stranger was really concerned. It was kind of nice. Bobby handed the phone back after he hung up.

"Was he nice to you?" Professor Hunter demanded, and he sounded like he might be ticked off if the answer was no. Now that really made him feel good.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"Good." He glanced over at Bobby. "Otherwise I would've had to kick his ass." Then his favorite teacher winked.

Bobby relaxed into the seat, so comfortable he might be able to fall asleep before they arrived. It had been a long time since he had been able to relax, it felt like years had passed since the last time he had felt safe. Sleep tugged at his eyelids, making them heavy, as Professor Hunter drove through a residential area. The black car pulled up to a large white house with two cars parked out front. Bobby struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Come on, kid," Professor Hunter said in a teasing and comfortable tone, like everything was perfectly fine, "plenty of time to sleep after we eat." A large hand shook his shoulder.

Bobby waited to crawl out after his teacher, ignoring the passenger door Mister Summers held open for him. Mister Summers shrugged at the professor who shrugged back. Then his teacher's hand was back on his shoulder, keeping him safe out here in the open. Bobby's gaze darted around, expecting an attack from anywhere. This house wouldn't be protected, he would have to be on his guard. He zipped up Professor Hunter's jacket with the protection symbol on the back, which he had on instead of a winter coat. It wasn't like he needed any kind of protection from the cold. Logan walked behind them and Mister Summers in front. The headmaster knocked on the front door.

A pretty woman with long blond hair and light blue eyes opened the door. "Oh!" she cried, jumping a little. The woman turned to shout into the house, "Sam! I think your brother is here!" She gave them all a warm smile while they waited for this Sam to come.

Then the giant appeared. Nobody should be that tall. It was unnatural. Bobby stared up in amazement as the giant grinned and called Professor Hunter "Dean."

"This is my brother, Sam," Professor Hunter announced. "Sam, this is Scott Summers." Sam shook the headmaster's hand. "Logan." Logan didn't look happy about shaking Sam's hand, but he never looked happy so Bobby assumed there wasn't anything unusual about it. "And Bobby Drake."

"You should plan better," Sam said with a smile, Bobby's hand disappearing into the huge one. "They caught up with you too fast." He laughed as he said it.

"Not fast enough," Bobby replied bitterly, yanking his hand away.

"Uh, rough week," Professor Hunter said, his hand landing on Bobby's shoulder and giving a warning squeeze. "So what's for dinner?"

* * *

Dean and the two men with him were dressed similarly, dark undershirts with plaid button-downs on underneath winter jackets. Even the kid was in similar clothes but wore a windbreaker instead of a real coat. It was as if they all subscribed to the Winchester Dress Code. Sam waved his brother's 'friends' inside before crowding Dean against the wall. His brother's face had a black eye, there were scratches on his throat, and he was moving a little stiffly. When Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder, he could feel the heavy soreness of fresh, deep bruising in the chest and shoulders.

"What happened?" Sam hissed, keeping his voice low so the Moores wouldn't be able to overhear. He doubted there would be an opportunity to fix any of it before Dean left, and that pissed him off.

Dean gave him a sharp glare, shoving him away. "Cool it, Sam," he snapped. Then Dean gave a quick roll of his shoulders and his bright, charming smile appeared. "So are you going to introduce us or what?"

Sam turned to discover Jess standing in the hall watching them curiously. Crap. He had a feeling he knew what the topic of conversation would be the whole flight back to Cali.

"Jess," Sam said, forcing a light tone and a smile. "This is my brother, Dean. Dean, my girlfriend Jess."

Dean winked as he shook her hand. "Lady, you are way out of my brother's league."

Jess laughed, pink highlights appearing on her cheeks. "It is so nice to meet you," she gushed. "Thank you again for the very thoughtful present." She pulled out the charm protection necklace Dean had sent. "It's very unique. I get compliments on it all the time."

"I just hope you're wearing it," Dean replied. He winked again. "It'll keep you safe from demons." He slapped Sam's arm with the back of his hand. Hard. "Like this one."

Sam let out an uneasy chuckle, realizing only now that he had not warned Dean about Mister Moore's hang-ups. He hoped he would be able to steer the conversation over dinner to safe topics.

"What happened to you two?" Jess asked in alarm, looking between Dean and the guy wearing the shades inside. "You look like..." Her voice trailed off as Dean rolled his shoulders, a larger movement this time. Jess chuckled, waving both her hands in the air. "Like you're been on the road searching for a runaway. Duh. Please, come in." She dropped her voice. "I didn't tell my parents about your runaway student. They might disapprove."

Dean gave her a questioning look. "So we're escorting him back to school?"

Jess winked. When she turned her back, Sam watched his brother and the guy with the shades, Summers, exchange a look. Shades shrugged and muttered, "Whatever."

Sam could have sworn Jess would have asked about Dean's black and eye and the bruises on Shades' jaw and cheek. Honestly, the only one who did not look like he had been in a fight was the one with the wild hair. Even the teen had bruising on his face and, if Sam wasn't mistaken, those were bruises on his wrists as well. A cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach as Sam paired the visual evidence with the way the boy acted coming through the door. The kid must have been kidnapped. Teenage boy alone, a runaway, could be a tempting target for the wrong kind of people. Sam's gaze slipped to the side, watching the boy. He was skittish, wary, and unless the dark circles under his eyes were lying, exhausted. Yeah, he had been through a lot more than merely running away. And what stupid comment did Sam have to make? About needing to plan better so the adults couldn't catch up with him so quickly? No wonder the boy twisted off like that.

Jess led them to the dining room where her parents and brother Frank waited for them. Sam introduced his brother to Jess' family then waited for Dean to introduce his guests. Dean just stood there. Sam made a motion between the two groups and gave Dean the 'get on with it' look.

"Oh!" Dean shoved Bobby in front of him, holding on to the boy's shoulders with both hands, more of a comforting gesture than one of control. Sam had been on the receiving end enough times growing up to know. "This is Bobby, he's one of our students." Dean motioned to Shades. "Scott Summers, headmaster of our school. The big guy over there," he waved at the guy with the wild hair, "is Logan."

Wild Hair nodded at them, not appearing particularly happy about being here.

"Logan is in charge of our phys ed program," Scott Summers announced, stepping forward to shake Mister Moore's hand. "Thank you so much for inviting us into your beautiful home."

"We are just so happy to have Sam's brother come visit," Missus Moore said in a bubbly voice, reaching out to shake Dean's hand. "Dean, he talks about you all the time. My brother this and my brother that."

"Know the feelin'," Logan grunted making a face like he smelled something nasty.

"Mister Moore and I are very pleased you could all come," she continued as if Logan had not spoken. "I take it you've met our daughter Jessica?" She motioned to Jess. "And this is our son, Frank. Now after dinner while we're enjoying dessert, Bobby, if you and Frank would like, you two may be excused to go upstairs and play some videos games or watch television."

Bobby took a step behind Dean with a sharp gasp. Definitely kidnapped, Sam decided. He hoped the poor kid was only scared by it, that nothing...well..._happened_. Sam's stomach performed a queasy flip-flop.

"Oh, I think Bobby should stay down here with us," Dean replied politely, shifting his body protectively in front of the boy. It was subtle but Sam noticed and the kid looked a little more at ease.

"We'd feel better if we kept him in sight," the headmaster added. "He is our responsibility."

"Surely you're not this strict with all your students," Mister Moore said as they seated themselves around the table.

"You'd be s'prised," Logan stated, dropping heavily into the seat across from Dean. "We look after these kids."

"Logan is also head of security," Dean announced with a grin. "He's a little protective."

Logan snorted and scowled at Dean, but Sam had a suspicion there wasn't any heat behind it. Especially with the way it made Dean chuckle.

Mister and Missus Moore took their places at each end of the table. Jess, Sam, Dean and the boy Bobby sat on one side with Frank, Logan and Summers facing them. Mister Moore led them in prayer before passing the platter of sliced meat one way and the mixed vegetables the other way around the table.

"Is it common for your school to send the head of security and the headmaster to pick up a student?" Mister Moore asked, helping himself to the mashed potatoes. He passed the bowl to the kid Bobby before reaching for the gravy.

"No," Summers replied, adding meat to his plate. "But Bobby can be a bit of a troublemaker," he stated with a strong look in the teen's direction. Bobby's head ducked as if he could avoid the visual reprimand. "We needed to have a conference with his parents before the start of the spring semester. Since I would already be there, I volunteered to bring him back with me."

"And you took Sam's brother and your head of security with you?" Mister Moore asked, looking confused. His attention turned to Dean. "Don't you teach mythology? Why would you need to go?"

"I didn't." Dean's hustling smile made an appearance. "Logan and I were heading back from a camping trip and offered Summers a ride so he wouldn't have to rent a car."

"Kid don't fly," Logan added quickly.

"The smartass?" Sam asked as he remembered why the boy's name sounded so familiar. He turned to his brother. "This is the one you wrote about in your letter, right? The smartass."

Dean chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, that's him. Man, I can't believe you remembered that."

"I'm what?" the kid Bobby asked in alarm. "What am I?"

Dean chuckled again and nudged the boy in the arm, in the exact way he had treated Sam at the same age. It was ridiculous, but he felt a sharp pang of jealousy at the sight.

"Why shouldn't he?" Jess asked in a sharp voice. "As many times as he's read those letters he can probably recite them."

Sam cringed. This he had not been expecting.

"Does your little brother obsess like this?" Dean asked the dude with the shades. "Or am I just lucky?"

His brother sounded a little sarcastic when he said _lucky_. Sam shot an elbow into Dean's arm, not wanting to be the topic of conversation. Not here. Not like this.

Shades looked thoughtful. "I'd have to go with lucky. See, my brother was adopted, so we didn't grow up together. He's not quite so..." One hand drummed on the table as he chose his words. "Concerned."

"He's a lot younger?" Missus Moore asked, her face reflecting confusion. "Is that why you didn't grow up together? Your parents adopted him when you were ready to move out?"

"No, ma'am," Shades replied seriously. "We were orphaned when our parents were killed in a plane crash. There was a family who wanted him. Just him."

Talk about a conversation killer. The Moores all shifted uncomfortably in their seats, shooting each other strained glances.

"But you were adopted?" Jess asked, her tone pleading for the answer she wanted.

"Nope." Shades, er- Summers, shrugged. "But I was the very first scholarship student at the Xavier Institute. You might say Professor Xavier built the school around me." He gave them a benign smile. "And now I run it."

"That's what's missing in our young people today," Mister Moore declared, "drive. Ambition. Tell me, do you encourage it in your students?"

"Absolutely," Summers, replied. "As a matter of fact, I teach an elective course in leadership and tactics."

"I thought it was ethics?" Dean asked, his mouth half full. Sam made a face, silently telling his brother that was disgusting.

Summers kept a perfect straight face when he replied, "I lied."

Dean chuckled. Mouth slightly open, showing off the roll he had just stuffed in there, eyes crinkling at the corners (even the bruised one), he began to laugh. Stunned, the Moores stared at Dean in disbelief. Sam kicked his brother's leg under the table, but that only caused Dean to laugh harder. Summers chuckled along with him and Logan relaxed a little, though he did not smile.

Finally Dean swallowed and pointed the other half of the roll at Summers. "Dude, you can't lie worth a damn in poker. How the hell were you able to lie to me about that? I mean, I had no clue."

"I probably got lucky," Summers said seriously, though his face still held a pleasant expression. "You were worried about, uh, other things, at the time."

"Did you say you taught leadership and tactics?" Mister Moore asked. "Is this a military school?"

Dean and the two men with him all opened their mouths at the same time to answer and hesitated. They exchanged a brief glance before replying, in unison, "Yes."

"Good," Mister Moore declared. "We could use more military-style schools in this country. As a matter of fact, I think our young people are going to need all of the discipline and training they can get."

Dean and Summers settled back into eating mode.

"Why is that, sir?" Summers asked conversationally.

Mister Moore's eyes flashed with intensity, his shoulders hunched forward with forearms leaning on the table for support. Sam groaned internally; he hadn't been able to warn his brother. Too late now.

"I don't suppose any of you have heard of the Mutant Menace?" he asked, his voice low, as if there were mutants slinking around the exterior of the house trying to listen in.

Sam heard Jess sigh from beside him. She cast him an apologetic glance. Sam turned to his brother, thinking he had at least partially warned Dean at New Year's when he asked them to check into this silly mutant rumor. However, what he found when he turned his head left him struck dumb.

Dean's fork, heavily laden with meat dipped in mashed potatoes and gravy, hovered in the air outside of his open mouth. He sat frozen in place as if time itself had stopped, his eyes glued to Mister Moore. Sam shifted his gaze to Summers. The headmaster, assuming any of the introductions were true, looked a little pale. His fork hung limply from his hand, dipping down to rest on his plate. His attention was also riveted to Jess' father. Logan looked murderously angry and Sam could swear he heard the sound of a low growl. He couldn't see the kid Bobby at all around Dean, as if the boy were cowering in fear.

Summers cleared his throat loudly, setting his fork down. "I'm sorry. What is a mutant?" He made a slight hand motion, hardly worth mentioning, except Sam noticed the growling stopped. Logan still appeared ready and willing to tear into Mister Moore, however. Sam had the disturbing feeling if Logan decided to, he would be damn near impossible to stop.

"Aberrations," Mister Moore began, eyes lit with delight as he launched into his favorite subject. "Unnatural things posing as human, taking our jobs, moving into our schools and neighborhoods. Next thing you know, they'll be running for office!" One fist slammed on the table, rattling plates and causing Jess' drink to slosh over the top.

"I take it you watch Reverend Stryker's television ministry?" Summers asked.

"So you do know it," Mister Moore said accusingly, as if they had been hiding the truth.

Summers looked straight across the table at Dean and shrugged. "Hunter, what were you telling us about that friend of the family?"

Dean lowered his still full fork. "I'll try," he mumbled. He shook out his shoulders and brought out the big flirting smile, all teeth and no substance. Sam felt a familiar tingle dance across his skin, so quick he was sure he imagined it.

"Sam and I have known Jim Murphy since we were kids. Heck, I think Sammy was just a baby the first time we met him," Dean began.

"It's Sam, not Sammy," Sam reminded his brother sharply.

"What does this have to do with Reverend Stryker?" Mister Moore demanded.

"Jim is a pastor," Dean explained. "He doesn't care for Reverend Stryker. He's asked us, as a personal favor to him, not to watch Stryker's program." Dean picked up his fork again. "This is fantastic, Missus Moore. I think Sam mentioned there's supposed to be pie for dessert?" He chewed loudly.

"Sam didn't say anything to me about that," Jess' father protested, turning to Sam. Ah, crap! Thanks a lot, Dean, he thought vehemently.

His brother's swallow was audible. "Oh, I'm sure my little brother was doing his best not to offend his girlfriend's father," Dean said, one hand landing on Sam's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "He even mentioned that mutant business to Jim over New Year's. And what did Jim tell you, Sam?" Dean turned to him expectantly, the hand on his shoulder clamping down uncomfortably tight.

"Uh, he, um," Sam stammered hesitantly, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to answer that.

"The truth, Sam," Dean hissed, his hand gripping tight enough to leave bruises.

"He told me not to worry about any mutant business," Sam stated and Dean's death-grip on his shoulder relaxed. "He also said Stryker was an idiot, but I really didn't want to tell you that, Mister Moore. Pastor Jim can be...uh..."

"Opinionated," Dean put in for him with a chuckle. "Oh, you should've heard the chewing out I got for not calling him when I took this job. Sheesh! You'd think I'd robbed a liquor store." He chuckled again, releasing Sam's shoulder to return to his dinner. Then Dean nudged Sam's arm with his elbow. "There is dessert, right?"

"Four pies," Missus Moore said with a nod to him. "You say you've known this Pastor Jim nearly all your lives?"

Sam nodded, checking out of the corner of his eye that Dean was doing the same.

"In that case, I think we should apologize if we've offended you or your family in any way, Sam. Isn't that right, dear?" she asked her husband, glaring down the table at him.

Mister Moore sat back in his chair, all fervor gone from his eyes, his body loose and relaxed. "Absolutely," he replied. "However, I intend to continue to watch the good reverend. Just because your source of spiritual guidance doesn't approve..."

"Yes, sir," Sam said quickly. "No problem."

"But I won't bring it up while you're here again," Mister Moore said. He looked at Dean. "Missus Moore's peach pie is the best you've ever ate."

Dean mumbled through a stuffed mouth.

"What did he say?" Missus Moore asked.

"He said he'll be the judge of that," Sam said with a reassuring smile. "Pie is kind of Dean's thing."

"You'll have a hard time beating Libby's apple," Dean warned her. "But if the peach is as good as Mister Moore says, maybe you two can swap recipes."

"Is she your girlfriend?" Missus Moore asked, steering them back into safe topic territory, although Sam feared it was far too late. For some reason the whole topic of Reverend Stryker and the Mutant Menace had Dean and his brother's friends on edge.

"Yeah," Dean replied, sounding odd. Sam doubted he had heard that particular tone in his brother's voice before, had he? Maybe the last time Dean had mentioned this Libby. Maybe.

"What?" the boy Bobby spoke up. "You mean that rumor is true? You're actually dating The Librarian? I didn't think she could leave the library." He gasped. "Oh my God, she was the one you were calling baby on the phone this morning." Bobby shuddered. "That's just wrong!"

"Hey!" Dean cuffed the kid on the side of the head. "Dude, you're gonna be running laps from now 'til next fall."

"At least," Summers agreed with a stern look.

Bobby slumped over nodding. "But I get time for my homework, right?"

Mister Moore laughed, the sound hard and sharp. "Oh, I think I like this school. He's worried his punishment will interfere with his homework. Even if you don't watch the right televangelist, I like the way you handle your students." He shot his son a hard look. "I'm sure there are a lot of boys who could benefit from your technique."

"Honestly," Summers said with a small smile, showing he was rather pleased at the thought of giving this news, "I doubt your son would qualify for our program. But if you're serious about wanting a good military school, I have a list of names and numbers I could send you."


	71. Chapter 71: Returning Home

Chapter 71 – **Returning Home**

Logan kept a close eye on the kid and the brat until everybody was in the car. That was the last damn time he went along with somethin' the kid's brother wanted. Period. That Sam-brat was trouble, plain and simple. Dean headed for the backseat without even bein' told, so he must've been wore out from makin' those idiots more agreeable. They'd best make a food stop before leavin' town.

When Logan yanked open the driver's door he noticed the Sam-brat standin' watchin' with this disapprovin' look, like he wasn't good enough to drive Dean's car. Logan shot the brat a defiant glare before droppin' into the driver's seat. He cranked the engine, letting it warm up while the brat stood out there in the snow. Before puttin' the car into gear, Logan checked in the back. Dean was ballin' up some shirts.

"Might want to think about buyin' a pillow for your precious car," he observed.

Dean was too tired to even give him a nasty look. "Yeah, whatever. Just drive."

"Wait!" Sam shouted, runnin' in front of the car.

Logan growled, wonderin' if he could claim later it was an 'accident'. Nah. Wouldn't matter. Dean would still be pissed. He drummed his hands anxiously against the wheel, wantin' to be as far the hell away from these stupid people as possible.

Sam jerked the driver's side back door open. Dean started to protest, "Sam, what do you think you're..."

"Shut up," Sam snapped, slamming one hand down in the center of Dean's chest. "Just shut up." Logan turned around to watch. The brat leaned into the car, pinning his older brother against the seat. His eyes closed and his breathing turned real heavy. Even though it was freezin' out here, little beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip and a trickle ran down the side of his face.

Sam's eyes opened slowly and he glared at his brother. "You shouldn't be this tired," he accused. "What the hell have you been doing?"

Dean waved a hand at the house they were parked in front of. "Dude, those people would wear anybody out." He peeled the big paw off his chest. "Sam, we need to leave."

Sam's lower lip disappeared under his front teeth and Logan wondered if the brat was gonna bite through his own lip.

"Call me tomorrow," Sam insisted. "I want to be sure you're all right."

Dean's eyes rolled all around. "Okay, all right, fine. God, you're such a brat."

Logan chuckled. 'bout time Dean noticed. Then Dean shot him a nasty look before turnin' to Sam again. "Sam, either get out, or get in."

For a second the brat looked like he might actually climb in beside his brother. Then Sam nodded and pulled slowly out of the car. "Don't run away again," he told Bobby before closing Dean's door and walking out of the way.

"Finally," Logan grumbled, shoving the car into gear. Driving careful-like on the icy roads, he headed towards their motel.

"Maybe we should head for the Institute," Summers said.

Logan glanced over. "Means drivin' all night."

"You have first shift," Dean said in a sleepy voice. He yawned and stretched real big in the rear view mirror before settlin' in. "Remind me again why I wanted to go."

Summers sighed and turned in the passenger seat to look in the back. "Because you're an older brother. That's what you're supposed to do. Especially when your little brother falls in with the wrong crowd."

"Oh, dude," Dean muttered in a sleepy voice, "don't know what I can do there. She's really hot."

* * *

Dean sat up as his car slowed down. They were pulling into the Institute's drive. Damn, Logan must've driven the whole way back.

"Dude, you could've woken me up," he protested, noticing now that there was a heavy weight against his side. Bobby shifted when he moved, the kid practically on top of him. Freaking great.

"S'alright," Logan rumbled from the front. "I don't mind."

Summers sat up straighter, maybe he had been asleep too. He yawned widely before turning to face Dean. "Is there anything we need to do for Bobby before we can go to bed?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and eyes before answering. "Probably ought to paint that protection symbol under his bed and line the windowsill with salt."

Summers gave him a weary nod. "Sounds reasonable. Do you still have paint?"

"Better believe it," Dean assured him. "It shouldn't take long."

Once Bobby's room was secure the poor kid conked out the second his head hit the pillow. Hank would want to check him out, but it could wait until tomorrow. They walked in silence to their respective rooms, exchanging a tired nod in the hall. Mission accomplished.

Dean crashed face-down on his bed. He didn't even bother to kick off his boots, allowing pure exhaustion to shove him down into a deep sleep, here where he was safe. It felt like only a few minutes when there was a knock at his door. He ignored it, hoping it would go away. The knock grew louder, more insistent.

With a reluctant groan, Dean rolled out of bed to answer. Sunlight streamed into the hallway informing him it was late morning, forming a soft glow around the woman standing outside his door. She appeared almost angelic in that warm glow, with the exception of the nasty expression on her face and the bitter anger radiating from her.

"What'd I do?" Dean asked, his mind still half-asleep as he blinked slowly.

Libby stormed past him into his room. He pushed the door closed, turning to face her. Her hands gripped her hips and her normally pretty eyes narrowed on him, hot and angry.

"You're back and how do I find out about it? Does my boyfriend bother to call? Text? Hell, does he knock on my door?" she demanded.

"Um...no?" Dean lifted a hand to rub over his head and down the back of his neck. She was kind of sexy all worked up like this. He tried not to smile at it, figuring it would only make her angrier.

"No!" she snapped. "I saw Logan walking across campus! That's how I found out!"

"He went to tell you we were back?" Dean asked, his sleepy brain struggling to figure out what this could be leading to.

"No!" Libby stamped a foot. "He just walked by! It was pretty obvious at that point." She glared but Dean wasn't fooled. The anger was thin, a veneer covering her real feelings, which he thought might be full of fear and hurt. Could he really have caused that? "I'm actually ready to risk introducing you to my parents. I already called! What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

"Huh?" C'mon brain, he begged silently, get with it. "What do your parents have to do with me not calling? Or knocking? And, uh, why was I supposed to?"

"Why were you supposed to?" she exploded. "How about, so I know you're here? And _**alive**_?"

"But I talked to you yesterday morning," Dean protested. "You knew we found Bobby and we were fine."

"Not the point." Libby dismissed the fact with a wave of her hand, her irritation growing and threatening to overwhelm both of them. "The point is," she moved closer, prodding his chest with one finger, "you were supposed to let me know you were home." Both arms flew into the air as she turned her back on him. "I feel like the last person here to know!"

"I didn't want to wake you up in the middle of the night," he said as his stomach began to complain with a rumble. Dean had a suspicion it would take more than a mere apology, however. "Can you finish chewing me out while I eat breakfast?"

With an aggravated huff, Libby waved for him to follow. They went to her room, which was more of a tiny apartment. She pointed to one of her kitchen stools and he sat. Within a few minutes he had a steaming plate filled with toaster waffles and freshly scrambled eggs. The problem was, Libby did not say one word as she cooked his breakfast. Normally having her cook for him was a real treat and she would talk about all kinds of things he had either never heard of or never thought about before. This strained silence was unbearable.

"Go ahead," he told her as he reached for his fork. "Finish chewing me out." Yelling would be better than this weird-ass silence.

Libby leaned forward from the opposite side of the counter, staring at him with an intense expression. "Tell me again, how many women have you dated?" She still felt really irritated, but her emotions shifted. The anger and irritation were taking a backseat to a calmer emotion, one he couldn't quite figure out.

Mouth full of egg, he shrugged. "A lot," he said around his food.

She kept staring and it was starting to give him the creeps. Finally she asked another question. "What's the longest relationship you've had with the same woman? Not counting me."

This one required some thought. At least ninety percent fell into the one nighter category. Most of the other ten were two or three days. Oh, then there were a few longer. Like Lisa. Oh, yeah, almost forgot about her.

"A week," he decided, diving into the waffles and avoiding looking at Libby. It felt wrong to look at her while images of Lisa poured through his head.

All of the anger dropped away. With a deep sigh, the irritation and aggravation faded too. Dean shoved the thoughts of Lisa away so he could lift his head and look into the pretty eyes watching him.

"I want you to let me know the minute you're back," she said, her voice and tone softer. "From now on. Can you do that?"

He sliced up the remaining half of his waffle, still confused. "What does this have to do with meeting your parents?"

Her cheeks flushed pink and she became highly uncomfortable. Well, hell, she started this. He locked gazes with her and waited for an answer.

"Did I say that?" she asked nervously. Her normally light and sweet emotions had a tangy tart flavor.

He nodded, gaze dropping back to his food so he could continue eating. "You did. And something about how you've already called them and now what are you supposed to do?"

"Oh, dear," she breathed. Lemony fear radiated into the room. "Dean, I never meant for it to sound like that. I'm not worried about my parents liking you."

He raised an eyebrow at her as he shoved a large chunk of waffle into his mouth.

"To be honest," the lemon flavor was strong enough to make Dean think of floor cleaner, "I'm worried about if you'll like them."

He stopped in mid-chew to see if she looked serious. It felt like she was serious. His brow furrowed because this did not make a damn bit of sense and Libby always made sense. Despite the fact they were on school grounds and inside the mansion, which meant she had to have walked over several demon traps, around the food in his mouth he asked, "Christo?"

"Very funny," she snapped. Dean resumed chewing. "It's just, well, I don't let anyone meet both of my parents unless I'm sure they really like me." The fearfulness increased.

He swallowed to clear his mouth. "You were afraid I didn't really like you because we arrived at three in the morning and I didn't wake you up?" This just might be the stupidest conversation they'd ever had.

"Yes?" Her voice was high and shaky, a good match for her fearful emotions. "Wh-when I saw Logan, and you hadn't even tried to call..."

"Most people would be pissed if I woke them up at three in the morning," he pointed out, trying to sound reasonable, especially since she wasn't yelling at him any more. "I was trying not to piss you off." He snorted to himself over that. "Yeah, and it's workin' like a charm," he muttered under his breath.

"But I don't want you to treat me like most people," she said in a plaintive voice. "I want to be treated like your girlfriend. I want you to let me know the second you're back."

"So waking you up in the middle of the night will keep me _out _of the doghouse?" he asked, wanting to be as clear as possible. "Seriously?"

* * *

Libby stood in her kitchen not knowing what to do now. She stormed over here, convinced that Dean was on the verge of breaking up with her because he didn't wake her up in the middle of the night. Talk about making mountains out of molehills. Now he was sitting calmly at her kitchen counter just waiting for her to go off on him for no good reason. Again.

Damn it.

She had been so upset over the idea that Dean might not be taking their relationship as seriously as she was, she had lit out the second she realized he was here and hadn't bothered to call. Libby had not even considered the idea that he had been acting with consideration, or he could have been exhausted on arrival, or any reasonable explanation for him not knocking on her door. She had assumed...

"Lib?" Dean stood in front of her, an intense worried expression on his face. "What is it? Did I do something else?"

"No," she replied quickly. "I am so sorry. I can't believe I just did this. You didn't wake me up in the middle of the night, so I assumed you were ready to break up with me. Isn't that ridiculous?"

"You thought that?" His voice was warm and sweet, matching the smile on his face and the way he was looking at her. "You were worried?" An arm swung around her waist and pulled her closer. "Really?" He leaned down. She thought he would kiss her, but Dean bypassed her face to reach her neck. Soft suckling kisses worked down her neck and Libby found she couldn't think of anything else.

"Really," she whispered, finding the act of taking a deep breath almost impossible.

Next he worked slowly up her neck until his lips were near her ear. His breath was warm and soft on her skin, causing a delicious tickle. "Missed you," he breathed.

She closed her eyes and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. Her eyes grew wet as she clung to him. Those were two words she had feared she would never hear, yet there they were, freely spoken. His embrace was tight and comforting.

"Take the rest of the day off," he said, his voice resonating from deep within his chest. "Let me make it up to you."

Libby tightened her hold on his neck until her feet no longer touched the ground. She nodded against his cheek. 'My boyfriend,' she thought, repeating it silently to herself. 'My boyfriend.'

* * *

Logan stopped outside the doors to the library. He saw Libby walkin' the other way, so she wouldn't be in there. Why would he want to go inside? He didn't have much use for books. Couldn't eat 'em. Made terrible weapons. A rock would be better. His hand reached for the door handle anyway and yanked it open. Warm air blasted his face as he walked inside.

Row after row of books stood in front of him. Kids were either sittin' quietly at tables readin' or were wandering around lookin' at the books. It was so calm and serene, like there couldn't be anything bad out there in the real world.

What was he doin' here? He didn't belong in a place like this.

Logan spun on his heel to march back out into the cold. He didn't need nuthin' in that library, he told himself as he practically ran for the mansion. Then he spotted a couple-a adults walkin' outside, slow like they were enjoyin' bein' in the cold. He slowed down, figurin' it might be Dean and Libby. Harassin' Libby was gettin' to be one of his favorite things to do and Dean sure didn't seem to mind.

It wasn't. When the woman's head turned he could see it was Jean wearin' a cap that looked a lot like Libby's. Logan swallowed hard, a lump formin' suddenly in his throat. She was smilin', the kind of smile Libby had for Dean, but Jean was smilin' at the guy she was walkin' with. Summers.

He was sure someone had smiled at him that way, a long time ago. It wasn't Jean. Never had been. He could see that now. Watchin' the two of them walkin' in the snow, Logan realized what a part of his brain had known for a while, that it would never be Jean smilin' at him like that. He realized sumthin' else, too. It had been too damn long since anybody had smiled at him like that.

Logan forced himself to turn away before he could take stock of the way they was holdin' hands. He could still hear them talkin', all sweet and happy. When he headed away from them, Logan discovered he was walkin' back towards the library. At least it was quiet in there, he wouldn't have-ta hear them any more.

This time he ducked inside quickly and headed for the information desk. That was usually where Libby was. Logan stalked up the center aisle to the circular desk but no Libby. The good-lookin' gal with the purple hair was there. Not a total loss.

"Hello, Logan," purple-hair said. "I didn't know you were back. That might explain why Libby took off about twenty minutes ago."

"Yeah," Logan agreed with a nod. He needed an excuse to hang out here long enough for Summers and Jean to go back inside. "Speakin' of, Libby ordered some book for me. Is it in?"

Purple-hair gave him this look like she knew he was lyin', which he was. But she rolled her chair across to the other side of the circle desk to type into Libby's computer. "Well, I don't see anything on order for you, but we have two titles on order for Hunter. They're not in yet." She looked up at him. Her eyes had a violet tint, to match her hair. That was nice. "Sorry."

Logan shrugged, taking out a cigar to chew on. "No sweat. I was walkin' by, thought I'd check."

"Did you find him?" she asked, her voice soundin' nicer and worried. "Bobby Drake?"

Logan nodded, clamping down on the cigar with his teeth. "Safe an' sound. He's prob'bly still sleepin'. Brat's wore out."

"Safe and sound?" The purple-haired gal made a face at 'im. "I saw Mister Summers during breakfast in the cafeteria. He didn't look like you found the boy safe and sound."

"I meant now," Logan replied, kind-a harsh. "Wonder if Hank's had time to check on the brat yet. Got some questions for 'im, too."

Purple-hair shrugged. "Maybe you should go ask Doctor McCoy."

"Yeah," Logan agreed. "Nice talkin' to ya." He gave her a polite nod before headin' out to go find Hank.

"Logan?"

He turned around. The purple-haired gal was starin' right at 'im. "Just so you know, my name is Julie. Not the purple-haired girl."

He walked up with his hand out this time. "Logan," he said, giving her hand a firm shake. "Nice to know you, Julie."

"Nice to know you too, Logan," she said. Then she smiled. Huh. She was even better lookin' when she smiled. He didn't think that was possible.

* * *

Dean woke from what was quite possibly the most relaxing nap of his life. He rolled to the side to curl his body around Libby, laying kisses down her bare neck.

"Mmmm," she moaned, shuffling backward into his embrace. "Spoiling me."

"That's the plan," he admitted against her shoulder.

She laughed lightly as she squirmed around to lay flat on her back. Her pretty eyes locked on to his. "I'm really glad you're back."

One hand slid down the front of his chest, and she frowned. She lifted her head and squinted at him. "What is that?"

"What?" he asked, assuming she meant the bruising. "It wasn't easy pulling Bobby out of there. There had to have been about-"

"No," she interrupted, "not that. Wait a second. Where are my glasses?"

Confused, Dean released her. She pulled on her fuzzy blue bathrobe before hurrying into the main room. When she returned, she had those horrible black framed reading glasses hanging from her neck. Libby snapped on her bedside lamp before lifting her glasses to their perch halfway down her nose. She peered through them at his chest.

"Now that's weird." Her emotions were calm and even, maybe a little concern but more curiosity than anything.

Every instinct he had told him not to, but Dean looked down at himself anyway. His entire chest was one large bruise, screaming with every color from red to deep purple-black, except in the center. Right smack in the middle of his chest was a clear area, a place that was unbruised, perfectly healthy tissue at complete odds with the rest. He knew why Libby thought it was weird. The unbruised part? It was in the shape of a large handprint.

* * *

"And it didn't look like this an hour ago?" Hank asked, prodding Dean's chest gently using his furry blue knuckle.

"When Libby woke me up this morning, it was still totally bruised," Dean insisted. He looked at it again. The handprint was harder to see now. It was like the unbruised part was bleeding out into the bruised area, turning damaged skin back into healthy tissue. "An hour ago you could see it better."

"It's a handprint," Libby said from behind Hank. "I took a picture with Dean's cell."

Dean pulled it out and put the image on the screen for Hank. Hank frowned, staring at it through his wire-rim glasses. "Very odd," he mumbled. He peered at Dean over the top of his glasses. "Hunter? Has anyone touched your chest in the last day or so? Like this?" He placed one of his furry hands right in the center of Dean's chest over the blurring handprint. Dean squirmed away as the fur tickled his skin.

"No," Dean replied. "I think I'd remember that."

Logan burst into the exam room, worry sharp and tart. "What happened?" he demanded, striding over like he needed to beat the crap out of somebody. He stopped short at the sight of Dean's bare chest. "When'd you start healin' fast?"

"Logan," Hank said, "you were with Hunter. Did anyone place a hand on his chest? Here?" This time Hank just motioned to the spot.

Logan made a sour face. "Just his brat brother. I'm tellin' you, that kid is the biggest damn brat I ever-"

"No he didn't," Dean argued.

Logan stopped and stared at him. "Yeah he did." He frowned. "As we were leavin' his girlfriend's house. Remember? He stopped the car?"

Dean focused on the memory of when they left last night. He remembered Sam running out in front of the car and fussing at him in the backseat. "He said I was too tired and I think I promised to call him today."

"That was after," Logan said. "Don't you remember him holdin' you down in the back?"

Puzzlement came from Logan, excitement from Hank, and some fresh fear from Libby.

"Concentrate, Hunter," Hank advised. "Try to remember."

He closed his eyes and thought about when Sam stopped them from leaving. Sam had leaned into the backseat and he had been too tired to argue or push his brother away. Vaguely he recalled a sensation in his chest, soothing, taking away the ache and soreness. The sensation had been coupled with good emotions, familiar feelings. Dean shook his head as he opened his eyes. "I don't remember Sam holding me down."

Logan grunted, confusion and surprise mingling with concern, kind of a casserole of emotions. He was becoming too easy to read. "And Hank complains about my memory."

"I don't complain about it, Logan," Hank said in his ever calm tone. Lately nothing seemed to ruffle Hank. Dean didn't know if he'd been practicing with Xavier or what.

Dean reached for his shirt. "Tell you what, let me call Sam. I'll let you know if he remembers anything. All right?" He shrugged into his shirt. "Maybe someone in his girlfriend's family is a mutant." A chuckled escaped. "That'd be awesome."

"Maybe," Logan had a hard expression on his face. "Maybe not. Those folks are nuts. They might decide to do in one-a their own kids."

"Dean? What's he talking about?" Libby asked.

He scowled at Logan. He had been hoping to keep the whole his-brother's-girlfriend's-family-are-anti-mutant thing to himself. "I'll tell you about it later." He hopped down off the exam table. "Later, Hank."

"I want to see you again this afternoon," Hank called as they left. "At four! And we need to have a session!"

"Damn it," he muttered, irritated by the reminder for freaking therapy. Then warm, sweet, light emotions that he could practically live off of rose from his side. Dean slipped an arm around Libby while Logan walked up on his other side.

"Callin' the brat?" Logan asked.

"Yeah."

"Good." He gave them both a nod. "See ya at dinner, unless you're goin' out?"

"I do owe Libby a night out," Dean said, but she shook her head.

"We'll see you at dinner, Logan," Libby promised, leaning into him. "I think I'd rather stay in."


	72. Chapter 72: Late News

Chapter 72 –** Late News**

"I have a new recipe for these fruit filled pastries," Libby said as they headed back to her place. "I can work on those while you call your brother."

He gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Baby. I'll come down when I'm done with Sam. I'm sure I'll need a snack by then."

She gave him a bright grin and a wink before walking away. The dress might have old-fashioned designs, but he did like the way it hugged her figure and swayed around her hips and legs. It was shaping up to be a nice evening.

"Dean!" Dad's voice boomed in the quiet of the hall. Then again...

Oh, crap. Forgot to check in with Dad, too. Dean spun on his heel to face his father.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dad demanded, worry flowing like a torrent. Dean braced himself as it hit him with physical force, sharp pain in his left lung and all the air squeezing from his body. He slumped against the door to his room from the blow.

"Damn it," Dad's voice growled. Then the pain in his chest lessened to a dull ache and he could breathe easily again. Dean glowered at his father.

Dad shrugged. "I forgot. Sue me." One large hand pulled him to stand upright. The other hand opened his door. Dean tripped inside as Dad gave him a large push to move it.

"Hi, Dad," he said sarcastically, regaining his balance, "good to see you too."

"You found the kid, right? He's alive?" Dad demanded. Dean nodded. "Good. Now what the hell kind of classes are you running here?"

"You mean myths and legends?" he asked, confused over Dad's attitude.

Dad glared. "Of course. No one else can teach your fitting in class. I mean, I can understand the need to start off with demons, considering the circumstances, but exorcisms? You ought to be teaching them to run like hell, not trying to exorcise the damn things."

Dean opened his mouth to argue the point, but apparently Dad was only warming up.

"And the questions! Good grief, what is with all the stupid questions?" He made a face and his voice rose an octave, mimicking one of the kids. "But Mister Winchester, why does Holy Water work? Just because it's pure? Could I use distilled water instead?" Dad's glower was hot. "I'm actually hoping the demon gets that one. We don't need her on our side."

Dad was so upset and so sincere about it, Dean had to chuckle. They were kids. Kids had all kinds of off the wall, outside the box questions, that was one of the great things about them. Sure you had to filter through some stupid stuff, but that was true with any group of people, they didn't have to be kids to ask moronic questions.

"Don't laugh!" Dad snapped. "What about the boy who asked me if you ate a high salt diet would that made you immune to ghosts?"

"Joe, right?" Dean asked.

"I don't know his name!" Dad exploded, waving a hand dismissively in the air. "Now get this one, can you make a deal with a demon and keep your fingers crossed behind your back so it doesn't count? Huh? How about that one!" Dad's index finger slashed upwards like a sword.

"You know, maybe I should talk to Hank and Kurt about covering my class while I'm giving that seminar," he suggested.

Fresh, crisp relief flowed over him from Dad. "Really? You wouldn't be disappointed in me?"

"Actually, I'm still shocked you offered," Dean said honestly. "Thanks for taking over for me, Dad. I promise, I'll only ask again if it's a real emergency."

"Was it a real emergency?" Dad asked, reaching out to check his eye.

Dean submitted to the brief inspection as he answered. "Yeah, it was. I don't know what Jim is planning to do about this Stryker asshole, but he needs to do it soon. Some goons had the kid and we think they were holding him for Stryker."

"Any proof?" Dad asked.

"Bobby heard them mention 'the boss' and 'reverend', but nothing concrete." Dean sighed with a shake of his head. "Summers doesn't want to go to the cops with it, because then we'd have to explain how we found him and why Bobby's in such good shape."

"He shouldn't be in good shape?" Dad asked, pulling out the desk chair to sit.

Guess his eye didn't warrant a comment. Dean sat on his bed with a bounce, facing Dad. "Okay, you know everyone here is a mutant, right? And they all have different abilities?" Dad nodded. "Bobby is ice. I mean, he can make it. It's all we can do to keep him from making ice-slides in the hallways so he can skate to his classes."

"And?" Dad shrugged, like he met ice-people every day. It made Dean wonder what all Dad had experienced while he was gone.

"They had him chained to a huge wood burning stove," Dean said. He watched his father's eyes harden and narrow. "His arms were blistered and burned black when we found him. From here to here." He pointed out the worst areas using his forearm. "Completely dehydrated. Barely conscious." Dad was feeling at least a little pissed off. As well as Dad's emotional filters worked lately, Dean guessed his father was livid. "Anyway, we found an all night convenience store and convinced the clerk to let us use the freezer."

Dad frowned for a moment before nodding again. "You mean you convinced the clerk."

"Yeah. Anyway, we covered him with ice. Totally. It took over half an hour, but he actually went solid ice on us. He was a human walking and talking ice cube. Weirdest damn thing you ever saw, but he said it felt great. I just knew he was gonna break my upholstery. Then the next morning when we woke up, Bobby was back to normal and there was no signs of any burn. Just some bruises from the cuffs."

A low whistle permeated the room. "Remind me to make friends with him. I'd never have to chill my beer again."

"And if you piss him off, he can turn you into a popsicle," Dean replied with a hard look.

Dad shrugged it off. "Did you call your brother yet?" he asked, pretty much the last thing Dean expected to hear. "You weren't answering your cell this morning so Sam called me."

"I was just about to do that," he said. "Man, who thought sleeping in would get me in trouble with everybody?"

* * *

The cell phone remained quiet on the table, taunting him. Dean freaking promised to call and now it was almost lunch time without a single damn ring. The batteries were fully charged. No voice mail messages. No missed calls. It just sat there, mocking him with its silence.

"Sam?" Jess glided into the room. She slipped into the chair next to his. "He's probably so busy he just forgot. It's no big deal."

Sam shot her a hard glare. "You didn't see him when they left. He was exhausted, Jess. He shouldn't have been that tired. There's something wrong, I know it." And I didn't have time to find more than the bruises, he added silently, his stare returning to his deceptively peaceful phone.

"I did see him when they left," she argued. "They all looked fine, just tired from the search, that's all."

Sam huffed loudly. "Yeah, that's why Dean had a shiner and that Summers guy's jaw was all bruised to hell." He huffed again, crossing his arms over his chest. "Headmaster my ass."

She gave him a funny, strange look. "What are you talking about? Sam, they weren't beat up."

Now it was his turn to give her the same look. "What? Jess, every one of them except Logan, and I like him even less now that I've met him, looked like they just came from a fight."

"You know," the thoughtful expression which meant she was starting to analyze him – again – appeared, "this could be an example of an extreme projection of your fears-"

His phone rang. Sam jumped, his hand flashing out to snatch it off the table. Literally saved by the bell. He had new appreciation for the phrase. It was Dean.

"About time," he snarled into the phone.

"Good morning to you too, princess," Dean replied. "Looks like you and Dad both woke up on the same side of the bed this morning."

"You were supposed to call..." his voice trailed off as Dean's words penetrated. "Where are you?"

"At the Institute," Dean said, as if it were the most natural response.

"What's Dad doing there?" Sam asked, an odd creepy feeling coming over him. He knew Dean was teaching, but Dad? There was no reason for Dad to be there. As a matter of fact, Dad would have been more useful looking for that kid. Sam called Dad this morning because he knew Dean would check in, not because he thought they would be together today.

"Dad? Oh, he took over my myths class while I was gone," Dean said, again as if Sam should have known better.

Sam clamped a hand over his eyes, trying to concentrate on the purpose of this conversation and not be distracted by stupid comments. "Why didn't you call me this morning before you left? I wanted to talk to you."

"We left last night," Dean replied, his voice taking on the husky tone which meant he knew Sam wouldn't like his answer. "We arrived in the middle of the night. I just woke up a little while ago so my girlfriend could chew me out for not calling her. Seems to be the theme today."

"The theme," he muttered, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. "Dean. I want to know why you were so tired."

A low groan sounded through the phone. "Oh, come on, dude. I was just tired. It's not like I'm ducking you. Hell, I didn't even call Libby."

"Oh, right. The librarian girlfriend." Sam snorted. "Is that part of her act?"

"Sam!" Jess hissed and a soft thump landed on his shoulder. He ignored both.

"Knock if off, Sam," Dean said with a growl. "You don't want to go there."

"Yeah? What if I do want to go there, Dean?" he demanded. "And while we're at it, what kind of institute is it you're working for? Do you have any idea the kinds of complaints and rumors there are about that place?"

"Actually, I have a pretty good -"

"I don't think you do," he insisted, cutting off his brother. "Do you know what they made me do just to qualify for that scholarship?"

"You had to qualify?" Now Dean's tone was hard and cutting. "How?" The word was drawn out, slow and angry.

"I had to take a physical," Sam replied, trying to impress upon his brother just how strange this place was. "It's supposed to be an academic-"

"A physical?" Dean snapped. "Did they take a blood sample, Sam? It's important."

"Yeah, they took blood. But my point is-"

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, sharp and fast. "I'm gonna kill him. Sam? I'll call you back."

"Dean?" Sam shook his phone a couple of times, as if he could force his brother's voice to come out. "Dean?"

Anger gone, feeling only lost and dazed, Sam looked to his girlfriend. "Well, that could've gone better."

Jess made a horrible face at him like she bit into something foul and bitter, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. "Part of her act? Really Sam?"

That could've gone a whole lot better.

* * *

John followed swiftly in his eldest son's wake. From the back, he could see that Dean's neck was flushed light red. Oh, this was bad. Granted his son was a little more emotional these days, but that was mostly influence of the emotions from people around him, especially the people he couldn't screen out. This? This looked like it was pure Dean, Heaven help them.

Then halfway down the stairs Dean stopped. The red flush in his skin faded as a horrible calm came over his son. It was horrible because John did not know what to make of it, he doubted he had ever seen Dean act this way except on a hunt. His son's piercing gaze landed on him, boring through any defenses he might have had.

"He wants to be a sneaky, manipulative bastard?" Dean said quietly in the deserted staircase. "I'll show him how to manipulate people. You might want to stay out of this, Dad."

John shook his head, not fully trusting this sudden new mood. Pissed off Dean he could deal with. The utterly calm and seemingly rational one? This one scared the crap out of him.

"In that case, think about the school, how annoying the kids are, how much you're ready to hit the road, anything but what I'm going to be talking about. Got it?" Dean's voice was granite, steady and unwavering. John could only nod in response, a sick sense of anticipation filling him. It was like seeing a huge train wreck coming and walking toward it instead of running away.

His son gave him a serious nod before racing down the rest of the stairs. They headed straight for Xavier's office. Outside the door Dean took a moment to gather himself, closing his eyes and concentrating, rolling his shoulders back and forth. Oh, God. John had a pretty good idea what was about to go down. He focused his thoughts on annoying children with stupid questions, particularly on the girl he wanted to lose to the other side. It could only help their cause.

Dean pushed open the office door. He walked halfway across the office towards Xavier, who was on the phone. Then he stopped and rolled his shoulders, the action followed by one of his better hustling smiles.

Stupid kids, stupid questions, John thought, watching with morbid fascination as this scene unfolded before him.

"That sounds very nice," Xavier said. "I will be certain to inform her highness of the invitation. Thank you and good day." He hung up the phone with a pleasant expression. "Hunter, this is a coincidence. That was an invitation for the princess and her escort to attend an appreciation costume ball for Stryker's supporters."

Dean nodded, still smiling. "Sounds good. Professor, did you have my brother take a physical?" His right shoulder rolled back again.

Xavier's eyes lost focus for a moment. He blinked a couple of times as his facial expression blanked. "Both of them."

"I think you forgot to show me the results," Dean said, still sounding way too calm. "Where are they?"

"Oh, right here." Xavier's chair rolled backward until he was behind his desk. He opened a lower drawer to pull out both files. "You know, I wasn't sure you would want to see these."

Dean held out a hand and Xavier placed two manilla file folders in it. "Why not?"

"I didn't exactly ask your permission for Sam's," Xavier replied. "I feared you would see it as a violation of trust."

Dean nodded, flipping open the top file. "You think?" he muttered quietly, barely under his breath. He tossed the first file back on the desk to look in the second one. His brow furrowed and his gaze snapped back up to Xavier. "How long have you been sitting on this?" John heard the strain in his son's voice, barely contained rage.

Xavier seemed oblivious. "I made it a condition of his scholarship. The results arrived a week after he took the physical."

"A few months?" The warning signs of Dean losing it, pink flush in the skin and that strained voice, came out.

"Sitting on what?" John asked, tugging at the file held in a death-grip by his son. Slowly Dean released it. John scanned down the page until his gaze hit on the word 'POSITIVE' next to 'Mutant Gene'. It wasn't exactly your normal lab report. There were a number of other suspicious looking items tested for, but he could not focus on that right now.

"You knew about this!" John exploded, slamming the file down on the so-called professor's desk. "How the hell could you keep this from us? This is my son!"

When John's fist slammed down on the table Xavier began to blink rapidly, eyes darting between them as a frown creased his face. "You weren't supposed to see that yet," he said slowly, motioning to the file in John's hand.

"And when were we supposed to see it?" Dean demanded, the false calm attitude gone.

Long thin fingers massaged the center of Xavier's forehead. "After your brother came here for a tour," he replied, his voice rough, as if he were being forced to tell them. "Hunter, are you doing this?"

"What tour?" Dean asked, face grim as he leaned across the desk and stared into Xavier's face.

"Any tour," Xavier replied. "I wanted to tell you both at the same time. I thought it would help his acceptance of mutants in general and you specifically."

Dean sighed, rolling his head and popping his neck. Xavier's entire body relaxed and he gave Dean a stern look. "I do not appreciate being manipulated."

"Me either," Dean replied in the same tone he used when chewing out John, "and I don't care if you feel like you're being helpful. Next time..." He glared and John was happy not to be on the receiving end. "Will there be a next time?"

"Not with that kind of threat," Xavier said stiffly. "I do hope you believe me when I say that I acted in what I thought to be your best interest. I would do the same for any member of our..." His gaze flickered over John. "...staff."

"Maybe," he said, "but it sure wasn't with Sam's best interest. I just left my brother, a mutant, alone with a whole anti-mutant family. That's just frigging great! I was hoping it was his girlfriend or her mother." One hand raked through that short spiky hair as Dean bounced worriedly on the balls of his feet.

Xavier's brow furrowed in confusion, John didn't need to be an empath to see it. Honestly, the fact it matched what he was feeling made it easy to identify.

"Hoping what was, Dean?" he asked.

Dean turned his hot glare on John. "We should've figured it out years ago, Dad." He yanked his t-shirt up, exposing his chest. The center seemed to blaze out, an irregular circle of healthy skin in stark contrast to the deep and brutal bruising ringing it. "Winchesters heal fast my ass. Sam's a god-damned healer."


	73. Chapter 73: Taking it the Wrong Way

Chapter 73 – **Taking it the Wrong Way**

When Sam's phone finally rang again, about six hours after his brother hung up on him, his anger over being dismissed was long gone. Jess had dogged him for hours about that 'part of her act' comment. Dean was partial to strippers, it wasn't a bad assumption on his part. Jess didn't know his brother, not really, that act from last night fooled all of the Moores. They thought Dean and company were all so sweet and caring, refreshingly protective of their student, yadda-yadda-yadda.

Sam checked the digital display on his phone but he did not recognize the number. "Hello?" he asked warily, wondering if he would have to keep some salesperson on the phone for entertainment while he waited for his brother's call.

"Hey, Sam."

"Dean? Where are you calling from? I didn't recognize the number," Sam said, alarmed. Dean always used his cell. Always.

"Sam, I want you to save this number, all right? It's Hank's office at the school," he said.

Sam found himself frowning over the suggestion. "What for? Who's Hank?"

"He's a friend of mine and a, uh, doctor."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, I really don't think I need your school's doctor."

A snort came through the phone. "I'll bet." Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, you know how you've been on my case since New Year's about eating all the time? And you thought I was too tired last night?"

Sam's shoulders stiffened and a sense of dread set in. "What is it?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"

"The bracelet I wear is a medic alert, you were right about that, and on the back is Hank's phone number so I want him to explain it to you," Dean said. "Here."

Invisible steel bands wrapped tightly around Sam's chest, squeezing out all the air. He forced himself to focus on the voice coming through his phone but he didn't understand all that medical jargon. "Wait," he interrupted, trying to force himself to breathe properly, "what? What's that mean?"

"My apologies," the well educated voice, supposedly Dean's doctor, said, "I'm afraid I assumed you would understand the terminology. Simply put, your brother's metabolism is much higher than average. From what he describes it always has been to a degree, however, since he came to us it has increased rather dramatically."

"Why?" Sam felt his anger return, shoving all thoughts and concern for himself aside. "Did it happen when they fixed his punctured lung? Did that quack screw him up?" It was all he could do to sit there and listen. Sam wanted to throw things, break some furniture, hear the satisfying tinkle of broken glass falling to the ground. Instead he sat there with a death grip on his phone in one hand while the other hand held on to the seat of his chair as if he expected it to go flying across the room any second.

"No, those two incidents are unrelated. Hunter? He wants to know if the procedure used for your lung caused it."

When Dean's voice returned it was a welcome sound, healthy and strong. "Sam? It wasn't my lung, I swear. It was..." Then he heard a chuckle. "Actually, it's genetic, there's really nothing I can do about it. And that's the truth."

"Genetic?" Sam asked. "Is that what that stupid physical was about?"

"Yeah," Dean growled. "Look, I didn't know a damn thing about it and it won't happen again. As long as I'm working here, Sam, you'll have that scholarship, physical or no physical. All right?"

"So you admit you were behind it?" Sam asked, feeling a small measure of achievement. However, in light of Dean's medical news, he wasn't sure it was worth it.

"Yeah, yeah, you were right. Don't sprain your arm from patting yourself on the back," Dean replied sarcastically. That was his brother. Pure Dean. The invisible steel bands around his chest released. "When would you like to come see the school?"

Sam had been angling to make that very trip since he started talking to his brother again, but he had been delayed at every turn. Now Dean was offering? It sounded too good to be true.

"Jess and I could drive over tomorrow," Sam offered, not wanting to be put off again. He wondered how he might be able to get his brother alone for twenty minutes or so, to really check Dean out. Out of control metabolism? It sounded like the moron who healed Dean's lung tried to do too much at once and screwed some other things up. Nobody understood how Dean's biological systems worked better than he did.

"No, dude. Just you," Dean replied, voice flat. "This isn't the right kind of place for your girlfriend."

Okay, this was a problem Sam hadn't expected. "You don't like Jess? Really? B-but," he stuttered, mind blown, "she's been pushing me to call you. She insisted on driving me to the airport for New Year's to be sure I wouldn't back out at the last minute. Heck, half the time she takes your side! She chewed me out for hours about that crack I made about your girlfriend."

"She was right about that. And she's hot," Dean said. "But her family is whack, Sam. I can't believe you're actually putting up with that kind of crap."

"Dean, her father might be a little eccentric, but he's a good guy. Honest." He couldn't believe they were arguing about Jess' family. "Besides, didn't we decide these so-called mutants were really demonic possessions?"

"No, you decided that," Dean said, his tone accusing, "and you're wrong. Her family believes whatever that asshat Stryker has to say. They should be thinking for themselves, not listening to a load of bull."

"You're complaining about people not thinking for themselves? You?" Sam asked, astounded. "Mister Perfect Little Soldier? Dude, you've never argued with Dad in your life and you have the audacity to say that?"

"I've argued with Dad," Dean snapped harshly. "Not that it's any of your business. Oh, hell, I need some chocolate right freaking now. Look Sam, all I want to know is when you can come visit the school. Call me back when you have a damn date and let me know if I need to buy your frigging ticket."

Sam opened his mouth to argue again for coming out tomorrow with Jess, but he didn't. Instead he pulled the phone away from his ear. Dean hung up on him. Again. That was turning into a real bad habit. You know, he might not call back for a couple of weeks and let Dean stew for a while. It would serve the big jerk right.

He left his phone behind in the guest room to join the Moores in their big joint birthday celebration. The next phone call could wait until Dean's birthday, Sam decided. He wasn't sure if he should discuss everything with Jess, but they had a plane ride back and plenty of time. Dean had an actual doctor looking after him, even if it might be the quack who screwed up his metabolism. Maybe it was time for Sam to stop worrying about his brother constantly. He could cut back part-time.

* * *

Bobby Drake felt like a human pincushion. Doctor McCoy had poked, prodded, taken blood samples, skin scrapings, some of his hair, the inside of his cheek and throat had been swabbed, he had been asked to pee in a cup, and then, to top it all off, the doctor even collected a little of his sweat. Too weird.

He wandered towards the cafeteria, hoping they would be serving dinner early today. Bobby had slept in and missed breakfast. The only reason he'd had lunch was because Mister Summers woke him up and brought a tray. Then he'd been ordered to go to see Doctor McCoy. Actually, 'ordered' wasn't a strong enough description. Mister Summers had taken him to see Doctor McCoy, one hand on his shoulder the whole way as if he would try to escape. Yeah, right. Bobby had no intention of ditching one of the guys who saved him. Like ever.

They were still setting up the serving area in the cafeteria when he walked in. Bobby wondered how long it would take when he realized he wasn't the only person waiting. Professor Hunter waved him over to the teacher and staff table. There were a couple of other people sitting there, Logan and The Librarian.

"Feelin' better, brat?" Logan asked as Bobby slid into a seat next to Professor Hunter.

"I guess." Bobby rubbed his hands along his upper arms. "I wasn't sure Doctor McCoy was going to let me leave."

His professor chuckled. "I know the feeling. He's stuck me in isolation a couple of times." His teacher reached out and gave the back of his neck a quick squeeze, kind of like when he'd gone to show his parents he was still alive, and Bobby instantly felt better. "You look better. Get some real sleep?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." His gaze dropped to the table as he wondered why they called him over here.

"I was thinking about renting a couple of new movies tonight," The Librarian announced. "I think that one Logan mentioned about the rogue cop is out."

"No giant insects, but you might like it," Logan said. "Hit the video place after we eat?"

"What do you say, Bobby?" Professor Hunter asked.

Shocked to hear a teacher ask him to go along, Bobby's head snapped up. "What? You're inviting me?" He was just a dumb kid. Weren't adults supposed to hang out with each other?

Logan grunted and made a face, but he didn't say no. Shouldn't Logan argue with Professor Hunter?

"To watch the movie too," The Librarian said. She looked a lot better when she wasn't looking over her glasses at you. Almost like a real human.

"I don't know," he replied slowly. "Am I allowed to do that?" Surely he wouldn't be allowed to leave school grounds after running away! What kind of school was this?

His favorite teacher grinned. "Consider it your last big hurrah before the hammer drops on Monday and detention begins. Meet us in the garage after dinner. If you behave, Logan might even let you pick out a movie."

"Don't count on it," Logan grunted.

Some kids were filtering in now. Bobby nodded as he stood up, spotting Kitty coming in. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you there."

* * *

"But what happened?" Kitty pressed, leaning over her dinner tray. "You really expect us to believe that you ran away, they mysteriously found you, and now everything is perfectly fine?"

Bobby nodded, shoving some fries in his mouth. "'erty 'uch."

She sighed, frustrated, and rolled her eyes. "Bobby, I thought something was really wrong when you took off like that. You caused all that trouble for nothing?"

Nothing? A demon after his mom was nothing? His gaze dropped to the mound of ketchup on his tray. It looked like a blood-covered lump. His imagination conjured the lump catching on fire, his mother screaming as it burned. The food in his mouth tasted like ash and he spat it out on his tray. The screams from his nightmares rang and echoed in his ears. His stomach began to feel queasy and he swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. The world around him swam with color, the overhead lights causing streaks in his vision.

"Look out!" a man's voice shouted over the din of teenagers. "Comin' through!"

Then warmth, good warmth, landed gently on his upper back. It seeped out, pushing back the nausea. After a few minutes the world stopped spinning and settled down.

"Better?"

He looked up at Professor Hunter and nodded. The teacher smiled and somehow he knew the professor was glad he felt better.

"I take it you're finished eating." It wasn't really a question. Professor Hunter jerked his head towards the exit. Bobby stood slowly, grateful the steadying hand never released him. They didn't even bother to take his tray to the return area. Bobby hoped Kitty wouldn't mind doing it for him.

He let Professor Hunter direct the way with gentle pushes on his back. When they turned down a hall he knew led to the fabled teacher's parking garage, Bobby stopped. They had plans to go to the video store. That meant they would leave the school. Leave the Safe Place. His breathing turned short and rapid.

"Whoa, easy, tiger," Professor Hunter whispered. More warmth filled him and Bobby closed his eyes as he tried to calm. The professor gripped him by both shoulders. "What is it?"

"I don't want to go," he said. "I want to stay at school."

"You'd better."

Bobby turned his head to the side and peered out of the corner of his eye. Hunter looked serious. "We're not leaving?" His voice trembled when he spoke, betraying his fear.

"You're not," he replied. "I'm taking you back to the clinic. I don't think you're as all right as you claim." Then a gentle smile appeared. "But if you feel up to it later, Hank can bring you to movie night."

"Here?" he asked, wanting to be clear.

"In the rec room," Professor Hunter promised. "Nobody is going to make you leave school grounds before you're ready. All right?"

"What about my parents?" Bobby asked nervously. "Dad said I needed to come home for the summer."

"Mister Summers and Professor Xavier are working on it," his teacher said. "And if they can't do it, I'll go pay your parents a visit and see if I can be more convincing." He winked.

Professor Hunter kept a whole convenience store full of people from noticing when he went solid ice, Bobby thought his teacher had a fair chance of convincing his father. Maybe better than fair.

Reassured, he nodded and forced his feet to move toward the clinic again. Professor Hunter stayed with him the whole way until Doctor McCoy had him lie down on one of the beds.

"There, now," Doctor McCoy said with a sharp-toothed smile. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"He's pretty shaky, doc," Professor Hunter said. "I thought he was going to puke in the middle of the cafeteria." He leaned against the door. "Kind of ruined my appetite."

"A minor downside to being an empath, Hunter," Doctor McCoy said in a similar calm, kind tone while checking the monitor thing flashing above his head. "Was there anything else?"

"We're staying in for movie night." He motioned to Bobby on the bed. "You can bring him later if you think he's up to it."

Doctor McCoy frowned and scratched at his furry cheek. "We'll see. Our time may be better spent discussing Bobby's adventures."

"In that case, I'm out of here." He tried to duck outside.

Without turning around, Doctor McCoy said, "But I'll definitely see you at your session tomorrow afternoon."

Professor Hunter leaned back in sight to roll his eyes at Bobby before leaving.

"Professor Hunter has sessions?" he asked. "What kind of sessions? He's not sick, is he?"

Doctor McCoy pulled a rolling stool beside his bed. "No, I can assure you Hunter is quite well. And the nature of his sessions are none of your business." He smiled again. "Just as this discussion will be none of his business."

Bobby gave the doctor a curious look. "Professor Hunter has talks with you?"

He nodded. "Of a confidential nature. Just as I will reveal nothing he has told me in confidence, I will repeat nothing you tell me. I would like to hear about everything that happened, leading up to and after you ran away. In as much detail as you would like."

If Professor Hunter had 'sessions' with Doctor McCoy, Bobby couldn't see any harm in it. However, he had no idea where to start.

"The beginning is usually a good place," Doctor McCoy said, as if he could read Bobby's thoughts. "Why don't you explain what precipitated your actions." Bobby just blinked at him. "Why did you run away?"

"Oh." He shrugged. "It doesn't even seem as important now as it did then."

Doctor McCoy glanced at the closed door Professor Hunter left through. "Somehow, I'm not surprised." His full attention returned to Bobby. "However, I would still like to hear it. And I promise not to interrupt."

Haltingly, Bobby described his dream. The doctor did not say one word, he only listened and nodded. It was kind of weird. Bobby was used to adults not hearing him out or assuming they knew what he would say. Now that he thought about it, that was mainly his relatives. Most of the teachers here did listen if you bothered to talk to them. It seemed to be his week for making mistakes.

Encouraged, he launched into the story of how he hitch-hiked for home. When the words came slower to his sleepy brain and he began to have trouble forming sentences, Doctor McCoy stopped him.

"Why don't you go to sleep, Bobby?" he suggested.

Bobby rolled on his side to check out the floor. No protection symbols painted down there. "I'd rather go to my room."

"Look up."

Bobby looked straight up at the high ceiling. The same protection symbol that rested under his bed was splayed across the entire ceiling of the clinic.

"I was the first to ask for it indoors," Doctor McCoy informed him. "Try to sleep."

Bobby closed his eyes expecting to lie there awake for hours. Sleep rushed up to claim him the instant he allowed himself to relax.

* * *

Hank made notes as he watched over his young sleeping patient. Hunter was right about Bobby needing his own regular sessions, not that they wouldn't have done it anyway. However, judging by the fact he ran into a demon his first night away from the Institute and the clear reluctance to sleep without additional protections even on school grounds, Hank would guess the poor boy would need quite a bit of therapy. Perhaps until he graduated.

When his notes were complete, Hank removed his glasses to place them in his breast pocket. He suspected it would be best for Bobby not to wake alone. As quietly as possible, Hank removed his chair to his clinic desk. There was always work he had been neglecting, whether it was medical files, research, or grading his students' work. Not to mention the new school requirements to memorize the exorcism ritual and the classic signs of demonic possession. There was plenty to do. Staying up all night would help him catch up on his current workload.

Around two in the morning, as Hank correlated his latest research data on how the mutant X gene is passed down from parent to child, there was a rap on the clinic door. Hoping it wasn't an emergency despite the late hour, Hank answered. Logan and young Kitty Pryde stood in the hall. Her eyes were red rimmed and there were tear streaks down her cheeks.

Hank stepped into the hall and pulled the door to behind him. "Kitty, dear, what is wrong?"

She sniffled, her eyes downcast. The girl may have been crying for some time.

"We need ta check on the brat, Bobby," Logan declared. "I reckon she was givin' the brat a hard time in the cafeteria when Hunter had ta take him outta there."

"Kitty," he said in his most reassuring voice, "it was only a matter of time. Bobby has had a very trying experience."

Her lower lip quivered and fresh tears threatened to fall. "But all he said was he ran away, they found him, and everything was fine."

Logan grunted and let loose a quick growl. "Brat."

"It sounds to me like you and Bobby need to talk, but not tonight. He's exhausted." Hank nodded at his clinic door. "I'm keeping an eye on him tonight." He shifted his gaze up to Logan. "A few more details would have been nice."

Logan shrugged. "Told ya everything I know, Hank."

"The possessed truck driver?" Hank asked pointedly, immediately regretting mentioning that detail as Kitty gasped.

Logan frowned and scratched at his jaw. "Oh, right. Forgot about that. See, Hunter interviewed him afterwards and thought he was prob'bly possessed but the brat didn't say anythin' about it."

"The brat being Bobby?" Hank guessed. He could see why The Librarian called Logan a grammarial adversary.

"Yeah," Logan growled.

Hank focused on the girl. "Kitty, I assure you that physically Bobby is fine. Emotionally is another matter. Why don't you come by in the morning and bring Bobby's roommate? I suspect it would be highly beneficial for his closest friends to have an idea of what he has been through in order to avoid similar incidents in the future."

She sniffled again and nodded, swiping a hand over her eyes.

"C'n you sleep now?" Logan asked her. Kitty shrugged. He frowned and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Still got some movies upstairs we c'n watch. Interested? One of 'em has a giant killer robot in it."

Kitty sighed. "Better than sleeping," she said in a strained voice.

"C'mon, kid." Logan gently guided her away, towards the staircase. Hank could hear Logan whispering what were supposed to be reassurances, though he wondered if Kitty actually felt better hearing that Bobby was 'just a brat' or 'he wasn't beat that bad.' It sounded like tomorrow morning would be at least a double session and Kitty might require some one-on-one time.

At least life at the Xavier Institute was never boring.

* * *

Dean jerked awake, a thought that had been nagging heavily at the back of his mind rushing forward with enough force to yank him from a deep sleep.

"Dean?" Libby asked sleepily, patting his chest with one hand. "What is it? Bad dream?"

"Sam," he said, the thought settling into a worry. "He didn't call me back."

"Hmmm?" She snuggled closer, her head heavy on his shoulder.

"He was supposed to call me back," Dean insisted. "Remember? He's supposed to tell me when he's coming out and if I need to buy his plane ticket."

"Should've let him bring his girlfriend," she muttered, sounding only half-awake.

"I told you about her family," he snapped.

"Better quit hanging up on him," she said with her eyes closed. "Most people take that the wrong way." Her voice drifted off into a light snore.

He glared at her profile in the mostly dark room, the only light filtering in through the slit in her bedroom curtains from the streetlight outside. Libby slept peacefully, like she didn't have a worry in the world. His worry took a backseat to the sense of calm and security coming from his sleeping girlfriend. She was probably right, she usually was. Maybe he should give up on the phone calls and go back to writing letters. Those were easier, Sam couldn't argue or interrupt. He was tempted to get up right now to write a new letter except he didn't want to disturb Libby. Instead he pulled her in closer and stared up at the ceiling. There would be time to write a letter first thing in the morning, before a day revolving around Bobby Drake, therapy, and writing lesson plans began.

It seemed like the only thing he didn't have to worry about was Adam, his genetic test was negative for the x-gene. They would be driving out next week to spend a few days with Adam and Kate during the seminar. If he kept hanging out with his new kid brother, Adam would have to begin suspecting there was something different. Adam was a smart kid. Whether the kid picked up on why Dean knew so much about urban myths or how well he could manipulate people, at some point the truth would have to come out. He could only hope Adam would take it well, at least better than Kate feared.

Then there was the issue of Libby's parents. She actually wanted him to meet her parents, even though she didn't have a great relationship with them and typically refused to talk about them.

If his life ever took a right turn, away from Weird, it would have to be a sign of the world ending. He held on to Libby as ideas and worries whirled relentlessly in his mind, refusing to allow sleep to come.

"Stop it," Libby mumbled, as if she could read his thoughts in her sleep.

Even fast asleep her emotions were light and sweet. Perfect. It was at times like this that he could see just how perfect she was. What was she doing with the likes of him? Instead of questioning it, Dean decided to enjoy it while he could. He breathed deeply, taking in the scents of wildflowers from her shampoo and the gentle powdery smell of her skin. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased as he realized he was here, with _her_. Suddenly all the rest of his issues seemed possible, like when the time came, he would be able to handle it. And her parents? They were her parents, how bad could they possibly be? Maybe Libby had one of Sam's issues and couldn't see how awesome her family actually was.


	74. Chapter 74: Contemplations

Chapter 74 – **Contemplations**

Sam stared out the plane window waiting for take-off. He couldn't figure out why none of Jess' family had noticed his brother and company had clearly been in a fight. It didn't make sense. Another thing that didn't make sense was the conversation with Dean about that weird physical. First his brother had been ticked off it had happened at all, then he had been worried about if they took a blood sample.

Sam had suspected Dean was behind the scholarship. Now he figured this Institute simply offered scholarships to relatives of employees and Dean had put him in for it. That part made sense. Actually, he could see Dean trying to stay in one place and hold down a job if it meant an awesome scholarship for him. What did not make sense was Dean not knowing the physical was a requirement. That was strange. And why would Dean be so concerned with them taking blood? Blood samples were a routine part of physicals. Weren't they?

Dean's condition was genetic, Sam remembered with a flash of insight. They were brothers. Whatever gene that was being blamed for Dean's high metabolism, assuming that was real, would this institute have tested him for it without his or Dean's knowledge? And what if he tested positive?

Actually, that would go a long way to explaining why Dean wanted him to come to this so-called school. Alone. Knowing his brother, Dean would invent excuses to make him leave Jess behind so he could have this talk with only Sam in the room, especially if it was a serious genetic condition. Nothing like horrible medical conditions to run off a girlfriend. If there was one thing Dean believed in with all his might, it was not to intentionally run off a hot girl.

Sam slumped in his seat with the realization. Big brother was still trying to protect him. Holy crap. Maybe he shouldn't put this off too long. Still, Dean really needed to quit hanging up on him. He was acting more and more like Dad everyday. Now that might be Sam's fault for leaving like he did and abandoning Dean to solo with Dad. Dad's annoying habits were rubbing off.

"Sam?" Jess gripped his forearm. "Baby, are you all right? You look kind of sick."

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied, bobbing his head. "I was just thinking about my brother."

Jess hugged his arm and the sound of the engines firing up drowned out any possibility for conversation. Once they were in the air and the safety lecture was over, she tugged on his arm. "What about him? You still haven't told me about that last phone call and why you're so upset."

Sam leaned in close, hoping the engine noise would be enough to cover their conversation from eavesdroppers. "Dean finally admitted there is something wrong with him."

"You're kidding," Jess muttered, her eyes wide and voice as low as possible considering the ambient noise. "He really has a medical condition?"

Sam sighed. "His doctor said-"

"Wait a minute," Jess interrupted swiftly, "you didn't actually speak with his doctor? This is what Dean told you, right?"

Sam shook his head. "No, he called me from his doctor's office, said he wanted me to have the number."

"Wow." Jess shifted her gaze to the back of the seat in front of her. She stared blankly at it for several moments before turning her head to look at him again. "This is good. It means he wants you more involved in his life. Don't be surprised if he wants you to be his emergency contact too."

That hadn't occurred to him, but it could be a good thing. At least Sam would know when Dean was hurt. Yeah, he would go for that.

"What did the doctor say?" Jess prompted now that she was ready.

"I guess Dean's metabolism is really high. As in, if he doesn't eat, and I mean pretty much all the time, he could pass out." Sam frowned as he thought hard on it. "When we were kids I used to tease Dean because he always carried candy bars in his pockets. His doctor said basically Dean's metabolism has always been high, it's just kind of in overdrive now. I wonder if that's why he carried those candy bars?"

Jess shrugged. "You could try asking him."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He hung up on me, Jess. Again."

"What did he say before he hung up? As precisely as you can remember, Sam," Jess insisted.

"That he wanted me to call him back after I pick a date to come visit him at the school and let him know if he needs to pay for my ticket."

Jess gave him a knowing look. "Was that it? He said only that and hung up?"

Sam raked a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. "He was annoyed and mentioned..." He paused as Dean's words rang in his head. "He said he needed chocolate right then."

"Well. I'd call that a big yes on the candy question," Jess stated. "How about you?"

Sam frowned, his brows drawing together so tightly a dull ache throbbed in the center of his forehead. "I should have noticed," he mumbled to himself. "Why didn't I notice? I could have compared him with Dad. Why didn't I do that?"

"Sam!" Fingers snapped an inch from his nose. Startled, Sam jumped, thrusting against the back of his seat.

"Baby, take it easy," she chided, rubbing a soothing hand along his bicep. "Where did you go? You were a million miles away."

"Sorry, just thinking," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah, I guess it was affecting him back then. I just can't believe I didn't notice. I mean, I _teased _him about those candy bars. Mercilessly."

"Why?" Jess asked.

Sam gave her a sour look. "Because he wouldn't share."

She laughed and shook her head at him. "You two must have been really something as kids."

"He should have told me why he had them, why he wouldn't share," Sam argued.

"All right, that's a point," Jess said and he knew another thought exercise was coming. "Why don't you think back to when you were, oh, let's say thirteen. All right? Now you're thirteen and Dean is eating one of his candy bars. How old would he have been?"

"Seventeen," Sam said on a sigh.

"Imagine your seventeen year old brother telling you that he feels dizzy or faint sometimes and that's the reason he has those candy bars. What would have been your reaction? What would you have done?" Jess asked, giving him that studious stare he had fallen for the first day he'd laid eyes on her.

At thirteen Sam had just begun learning how to ask Dad's and Dean's tissue and organs to repair themselves faster. There had been a lot of trial and error. With something that far inside, he might have tried it on his own. Maybe. But he wouldn't have known what to look for. And when that didn't work...

"I would have pestered Dad to take him to doctors until we found out why it was happening. In the meantime, I would have made sure we always had plenty of high energy foods around for Dean and I'd make him show me that he had enough on him before school every day and I would probably-"

"Sam?" Jess interrupted gently. "I think you may have answered your question. Dealing with you being bratty about not sharing his candy bars probably seemed like the better alternative to Dean. And, no offense, but I think I agree with him."

"You need to stop doing that," Sam informed her. "Just stop taking his side. He doesn't like you."

She frowned at him. "He doesn't like me? He told me I was out of your league."

"He also said you're hot, which is like the ultimate compliment coming from Dean about a girl, but that doesn't mean he likes you," Sam argued.

"What makes you think he doesn't?" she asked. "Did he say 'I don't like Jessica'?"

"Well, no," Sam replied slowly, "but he doesn't want you coming to his school with me."

Jess stared at him and Sam swore he could hear the wheels spinning inside her head. Then again, it could be those damn plane engines.

"I don't suppose his condition is genetic?" she asked slowly, eyes boring into him.

Truth or Dare. He'd like to switch for a dare right now. Deciding to take the plunge now rather than later, and maybe lie to Dean so he could bring Jess along anyway, he nodded.

"Does he want you to be tested for this condition too?" Jess asked. Damn, she was smart.

Sam shrugged sheepishly. "I think that's what the trip to his school is actually for, but Dean would never come out and say it." Really after the way Dean went off about the blood sample he figured it was his results, which couldn't be good if his brother wanted to deliver the news in person. Yeah, he'd really like Jess to be there.

"Then I understand why he doesn't want me there," she replied as her features settled into a determined expression. "But if it's all right with you, I want to go."

Sam pushed up the armrest between them so he could wrap his arm over her shoulders. He pulled her close as he pressed his mouth close to her ear. "Thanks."

* * *

Dean chewed on the end of his ballpoint as he stared at the blank paper on his desk. This was worse than the first time he wrote to Sam. He didn't have to mail that one. Plus Libby was right, he had been hanging up on Sam a lot lately. He needed to stop doing that. Fine.

With a reluctant sigh, Dean began his letter in the worst possible way, with an apology.

_Sam,_

_Sorry about hanging up on you a couple of times. I guess maybe I've been doing that lately. Everybody tells me I'm moodier now, especially Dad. Like he's not. Anyway, I'll try to stop. But dude, you have to let me finish a sentence, all right? You can't interrupt me all the time. It doesn't matter if you think you know what I'm going to say or if you think I'm wrong, you need to hear me out. You do that and I'll stop hanging up. Fair trade?_

_Why don't you send me the dates you want to come to the Institute and I'll book your flight, pay for the tickets and reserve your room. Okay? Deal? Don't make me call up there and find out when Spring Break is this year. You should've gone with your buddies to Mexico last year, by the way. They had a great time. I don't think your girlfriend will let you go this year and I wouldn't blame her._

_Speaking of Jess - _

Dean paused here. He knew how he felt about that stripper comment regarding Libby. Sam had been way out of line, he'd never met Libby or even talked to her on the phone. Dean didn't dislike Jess, he wasn't sure he liked her yet, but he didn't dislike her. Heck, he didn't even know if she shared her father's views. While her father was spouting off that anti-mutant propaganda, she sat there rolling her eyes and feeling bored silly.

_Speaking of Jess – I was out of line. I think I was still mad about that insin_

He chewed on his pen again. How the hell did you spell that? He could ask Libby but she might ask why he needed to spell insinuation. Not going there. He scratched it out.

_I think I was still mad about that -xxxx- comment you made about Libby. But two wrongs don't make a right. Sorry about that. I don't know Jess well enough to say anything and you're dating her, so she must be all right. It'd be nice if you thought the same about Libby, even though I don't usually attract classy women._

_Okay. I'm done. Send me the dates and I'll take care of everything for your trip here._

_Dean_

He folded it and stuffed it into an envelope before he could change his mind about sending it. He freaking apologized twice. That had better be enough.

Damn. Must be time for his morning snack.

* * *

Trying to find an excuse not to work on lesson plans after his morning snack, Dean found Logan standing outside the clinic. The door was closed, which was unusual for late morning. Logan lounged against the wall, one leg bent at the knee, foot resting against the wall behind him. He chewed one of his never-ending supply of cigars.

"What's up?" he asked, moving to lean against the wall next Logan.

"Huh?" Logan seemed distracted. And he felt guilty.

Dean's gaze flicked to the closed clinic door and back to guilty Logan. "Let me guess, it's time for Bobby's therapy session?"

Logan scowled, his cigar wobbling as he bit down harder on it. "And Kitty."

"Kitty? What the heck is she in there for?" Dean asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Reckon she caused Bobby's fit yesterday, when you had to take 'im out of the cafeteria," Logan replied and shrugged. "Now she feels guilty about it."

That still didn't explain why she was in a therapy session with Bobby, but Dean figured Logan wouldn't know the answer either.

"So how's it going in there?" he asked instead.

Logan shrugged again. "He still ain't givin' up what happened b'tween the beer and the bathroom. I'd say McCoy has his work cut out for 'im." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the room. "I'm hopin' Kitty's not cryin' when she comes out. I hate that."

Dean couldn't help grinning. "You make an awesome big brother."

Logan scowled and a flare of anger, so strong it stole Dean's breath, erupted. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. The taste of hot tabasco lingered. "I told you, family's not all it's cracked up to be."

"Depends on the family," Dean replied, trying to keep his voice steady after that. "It's not always defined by blood, you know. Bobby Singer is family."

Logan snorted, his gaze returning to the door.

"He's not the only one," Dean added. Logan did not bother to react, but his emotions gave him away. A sense of calm and of being pleased floated up over all other emotions. They stood there in a comfortable, easy silence.

Dean hated to risk the peaceful feelings, but he had to know. "Any idea who in your old family pissed you off so bad?"

He must have caught Logan off-guard. A shocked look came his way coupled with a flurry of emotions, too quick to identify individually but all related to surprise. "Nah."

"I figured," Dean admitted. "You and that swiss cheese head of yours." He shrugged. "But this family isn't so bad, is it?"

Logan's gaze dropped to the floor before he shook his head. This time Dean let the silence continue until Logan broke it.

"Libby's irritatin'," he said to the floor. His eyes lifted and were unfocused, looking beyond the walls. "I had a girl once. Kayla. I'm pretty sure she looked at me the same way Libby looks at you." His gaze focused on Dean, sharp and steady. "You treat her right and she'll stick by ya."

This was a historic moment; Logan said something nice about Libby. He was so stunned, Dean could only nod.

"Good." Logan's cigar wobbled as he chewed on it. "She's prob'bly too good for the likes of you anyway."

Dean grinned and nodded in agreement. "I know it."

"What are ya doin' with all those phone numbers you collect these days?" he asked.

Dean chuckled. "Why? Interested?"

Logan shrugged. "Maybe."

Now this was promising. Was Logan really getting over that crush on Jean Grey? Damn. This day was just full of surprises.

* * *

Reverend Stryker called for his assistant, a capable and astute man. He came from the ranks of the Purifiers, hand selected by Stryker himself. After all, a man as important as he would be once the mutant threat was fully realized by the general populace would need an assistant who doubled as a personal bodyguard. It was not royalty who needed them, it was the people who would shape the future of this world, those who spoke for God.

His assistant, Jeffrey, entered his office dressed in a proper black pressed suit with an ironed and starched white shirt. Jeffrey had short clean hair, his hands were always spotless, and his desk constantly in order.

"Sir," he said in his deep baritone, striding across the office to Stryker's desk. He laid a file in the center, turned so it could be opened from the correct side. "The preparations are in order. Enough of the real supporters of our cause have responded to make the party look real. I have listed several men who would be ideal for the detail to dispose of the bodyguard, as you requested, sir."

Stryker nodded, flipping open the file and perusing the contents until he saw the list of names. "Jeffrey," he said mildly, "is this your name in the list?"

"Yes, sir," Jeffrey replied stiffly. "Sir, I would love a crack at the mutant who tried to trick you." His eyes blazed with the kind of fervor Stryker tried to create in his audience.

Stryker dropped his gaze to the list again. "Roy Perry. Is he the – uh..." He spread his arms out trying to approximate the man's massive girth, all muscle.

"Yes, sir," Jeffrey replied.

"Definitely Perry. Is there anyone on this list who can keep him in line?" Stryker scanned the dozen names again.

"I could," Jeffrey insisted.

His eyes flicked up to take in his assistant again. "I would prefer for you to lead the mutants to their respective punishments, and to assist me in the interrogation of our false princess."

A moment of dislike flitted across Jeffrey's face before he nodded. "Yes, sir. An honor, sir."

Ah, how he loved that military training when taken to the extreme. Jeffrey had been a mercenary for hire to the highest bidder before he discovered the Purifiers. In Stryker's organization he had found the direction his life needed, a cause worthy of his considerable talents.

"In that case, may I suggest Captain Peter Morgan? According to Perry's file Morgan is the only one he takes orders from consistently." Jeffrey leaned slightly forward to point out the name in his list.

"Perfect. I think it would be safer to have three man attend to the so-called bodyguard. Clearly the mutant army believes their princess is in need of protection, therefore we should not underestimate him. Why don't you choose the third man?" He handed the file back.

Jeffrey scanned the list. "A good compliment would be Smith, sir. He is from the same unit and has a reputation for bringing in only dead mutants."

"Arrange it," Stryker ordered. "And put together a similar list for the interrogation. I want at least a dozen Purifiers with us."

Jeffrey frowned as he closed the file with a snap. "Are you worried about one female mutant, sir?"

"Our angel has warned me," he replied sternly. "We should not take her lightly. She is a very powerful mutant. Do you know what she was doing outdoors during the storm?" He waited for the slight movement of Jeffrey's head to indicate 'no'. "She was creating it."

Jeffrey normally maintained excellent control of himself, but now his jaw dropped. "Is that possible, Reverend? Isn't the weather God's domain?"

"Proving which side these mutants are on," Stryker pointed out. "The angel then attempted to deliver the boy who makes ice into our hands. Another failure."

"The Purifiers had yet to arrive," Jeffrey pointed out quickly.

"I know, they are not to blame. However, have you read the locals' descriptions of the men who came for the mutant boy?" he asked.

Jeffrey shook his head. "No, sir. I have not been privileged."

Stryker removed his copy from a desk drawer. "You should read it. One of the men sounds suspiciously like the bodyguard." He passed it into his assistant's hands. "Select a dozen Purifiers to assist us in the woman's interrogation. Better to be paranoid than dead."

Jeffrey's body stiffened and he gave Stryker a shallow bow before turning on his heel to leave. Stryker watched until the man exited his office.

"Very wise," the angel's voice came from behind him. "But are you sure three are enough for the bodyguard?"

"You said he was a nobody," Stryker replied, not turning to face the voice. He hoped to earn that right soon, maybe as a reward for the capture and interrogation of the false princess.

"He is, but he is a dangerous nobody," the angel said. "What kind of men did you assign to take care of him?"

"Very dangerous, ruthless men," Stryker said, feeling a measure of pride that he could promise such a thing. "They will be more than enough for one worthless mutant, especially one without a dangerous ability, like super strength or control of the weather."

"Order them not to amuse themselves first," the angel advised. "The first chance they have, they should kill him."

Stryker nodded although he had no intention of making that an order. They would take precautions, make sure the bodyguard was not armed while the Purifiers would be. The man would be taken by surprise, off-guard, and unarmed. He would not stand a chance.


	75. Chapter 75: Masquerade

Chapter 75 - **Masquerade**

Dean shifted uneasily in his red form-fitting costume with knee-high boots and the bright yellow lightning bolt across his chest, like a frigging target.

"Ready, Hunter?" Storm asked in her imperious tone, which fit her princess character perfectly.

"Not in this thing," he muttered caustically. Dean lifted his gaze to find Storm in a Wonder Woman costume, every color glittering sequins and the curves of the costume hugging her figure. The gold bracelets even looked like real gold with small gems inset. "Damn, Storm. That's awesome."

She laughed lightly. "I believe we've known each other long enough for you to use my given name."

To be honest, he had been dreading this. "Uh, you mean, uh..." Dean waved a hand at her.

"Ororo." One hand lifted to rest on her hip, which jutted out at a sexy angle. It's a good thing Libby wasn't a mind reader, she'd probably kill him for the thoughts running through his head at this moment.

"Or-uh-row..." His tongue struggled to wrap around the unfamiliar pronunciation.

"Ororo," she repeated, the r's rolling perfectly and sounding so majestic from her. "You can say it, can't you?"

Sometimes flattery worked better than ability. "You know, a pretty name like that doesn't deserve to be butchered by the likes of me. How about if I stick with Storm? Or Your Highness?"

Her head dropped back and deep, joyful laughter filled the room accompanied by feelings of being pleased. At least he wouldn't have to sweat a lightning bolt up his-

"Very well," Storm's voice thundered in the small room. "And likewise I shall refer to you as Hunter. It is only fitting." She moved to stand beside him and wrap a hand around his upper arm. "Shall we go?"

"We can wear coats, right?" Dean asked. "This thing isn't lined."

She ran a manicured nail over his chest and hummed. "So those are real. I wondered."

He glared at her amused expression and the buttery flavored amusement. "The only place I could put a weapon was in my boots. I feel freaking naked. I could probably stash a gun in my coat."

"Considering what an accomplished bodyguard you are, you won't need one," Storm replied airily. "I do hope you secured the same transportation as last time?"

Dean tried to shake of the feeling of dread he had about tonight's ball. There was something about the timing of it, the invitation immediately after they brought Bobby back. It felt wrong. It wasn't demon-wrong but there was something off.

The feeling of wrongness did not subside after they arrived either. It still looked like a real party, all of the other people dressed in more superhero costumes than Dean could identify. Even the little known ones were represented here. There were a couple of other men dressed as Flash though Storm assured him that he 'filled out' the costume better. She said it in front of one of Stryker's people so he figured it was for their benefit, not his. Ever since she discovered he and Libby were kind of a couple, Storm hadn't been as overt with the flirting. He hadn't figured that one out. The flirting was just for fun. Whatever.

Storm stroked his cheek to cover checking out the room for Stryker's thugs. Dean kissed her palm as it passed close to his mouth. She draped her arm over his shoulder to lean in closer to his ear.

"About five in this room. What's your count?" she murmured.

"Two near each door and one in costume for every four or five tables," Dean counted back. "That's, uh, twelve?"

"I missed the ones in costume," Storm replied, a gentle smile on her face. "What do you think of when you look at me?"

"Huh?" Where the hell did that come from? "What?"

"When you look at me like this." She trailed a fingertip along his cheek. "What, or rather who, are you thinking of?" Storm moved in closer until her lasso rubbed against his hip. She whispered in his ear, "Tell me it's a certain librarian. I have twenty dollars riding on this. Don't lie to your partner."

Dean chuckled and nodded. Storm placed a light kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured softly.

He pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder when he noticed a man in a regular suit, security for the party, waving for his attention. "Show-time," he whispered, turning her around.

Storm held his arm as he led her to follow the man in the suit. There was a private room in the back for high profile and wealthy contributors last time, so it would make sense for there to be one for this party too. The feelings of wrongness intensified in the empty back hall, where the emotions of others were no longer obstructing Dean's ability to read their escort. This man, supposedly a security guard, was angry.

Now people became angry for all kinds of reasons, granted. Their escort was so furious his hands clenched at his sides as he stalked through the hall. Pure hatred, tart, bitter, and thick, radiated with a slow burning sensation right through Dean's chest. And they walked past the private dining room from last time without slowing. He stopped in the hall and pulled Storm behind him.

"Where are you taking us?" Dean demanded in his best bodyguard tone.

Their escort turned and for a brief moment his face reflected his anger and hatred before it smoothed out into a poker-face blankness. "The reverend has requested for you join his private party."

"Hunter?" Summers' voice filled his right ear. "What's wrong? Do you think your cover is blown?"

"Yeah, I figured as much," Dean replied, his answer fitting both conversations. "But where? I thought the private room was back there." He motioned to a closed door they had passed.

"There's another room for the very special donors," their escort replied. Dean saw a hand moving under the jacket, but all he had was a knife in his boot. There was no room for anything heavier in this stupid spandex costume. "Move!" the man barked, holding a handgun on them.

"You do realize this could be construed as an act of war against her highness' country, holding a gun on her," Dean threatened, his real purpose to inform their team leader of the situation.

The man laughed at him, a dark and knowing chuckle. "Now that would be a neat trick, considering her country doesn't exist. Keep moving." He motioned with the gun.

Dean exchanged a glance with Storm, wondering how she wanted to play this. She nodded for him to go along with it.

"Their cover is blown," Summers' voice crackled. "I'll come in through the back. Jean and Logan, find an excuse to go in that hallway and provide back-up. The rest of you keep your eyes peeled for an ambush. If they know about Hunter and Storm they may know about the rest of us, too. I'll let you know when to fall back to the van."

Dean opened a door at the far end of the hall. There were two large men inside. "Go on," the escort insisted. "Her highness will be having a private audience this time."

Crap.

After another look at Storm and another nod to go on, at least until their backup arrived, Dean stepped inside the room. The door was slammed closed by a third man who was so big he could make a professional linebacker feel inadequate. All three of these men burned with the same anger and hatred. The hatred was like a living thing, growing and expanding until it covered them.

Dean narrowed his gaze on the men watching him with undisguised disgust.

"Think it's got a frog tongue?" one asked.

The other one yanked the mask off of his face, letting it hang against the back of his neck. "Nah," that one replied, "it's not ugly enough for that. Maybe it can blend in with its surroundings, like a chameleon."

"Sure fooled the boss the first time," the first one added. "Good thing the boss has his own angel."

The other two grunted in agreement. The boss has his own angel, huh? That had to mean Stryker had some kind of informant. Well that was freaking wonderful.

The one who asked about his tongue had a gun drawn and moved to stand out of the way, against the wall. "Go ahead," he said, "if it tries anything, I'll shoot it."

Dean was a little tired of being 'It'. The larger men moved in closer. Despite the hate and anger in the room, those warning hairs on the back of his neck hadn't twitched. These bastards were human. Double crap. People were freaking crazy.

Most likely he would only be allowed to fight back to a certain point before he found himself on the receiving end of a bullet. Then again, if he could keep one of the bastards who wanted to beat the everliving crap out of him in front of the asshole with the gun, that might work for a while.

Before either of them could take a swing, the hate grew. Dean would not have thought it possible but it happened. With a central focus for their hate, namely him, it expanded to fill the room. It was heavy and thick, a weight on the room engulfing them all. A tartness formed in the back of his throat followed by a biting, stinging sensation in his skin. Dean wanted to scratch at it but the second he moved the two men laid into him.

He tried to fight smart, the way Dad had taught him, but the hatred was blinding. He could not think about anything except how much these bastards needed to die. The stinging in his skin seeped deeper as a blow landed to his jaw. Dean dropped to one knee and received a kick to the abdomen which sent him sprawling on his back. The stinging transformed into a slow deep burn threading through every muscle in his body, forcing out any thought or worry outside of this room. He felt feverish as feet kicked his sides.

Dean rolled over, his back in the air and one arm protecting his abdomen. A glance up at his attackers, who had not bothered to ask one freaking question so this wasn't some kind of twisted interrogation, showed their faces beaming from their work. Sick bastards.

The linebacker stepped in front of the dude with the gun. This might be his only chance. Dean sprang from the floor, launching his body at the linebacker. The attack was totally unexpected so Dean was able to throw him into the man with the gun. Both fell against the wall. Reaching between the flailing arms, Dean wrenched the gun away. He rolled off the men, scrambling to put his feet under him.

The third man made to charge when Dean raised the gun and aimed for the scumbag's chest. The asshole hesitated.

"Don't," Dean warned. "I won't miss."

The man's jaw clenched and his eyes flared. Dean could relate. The asshole wanted him dead just as much as he wanted to kill this bastard. He breathed in feeling the deep burn of hate flaring up as their gazes locked, an unbearable heat spreading through his body. A smirk appeared on the smug bastard's face.

"Can't do it, can ya?" he taunted. "Killing a human is different."

What? Dean could almost ignore the hate and the driving desire to kill, he was so astonished by the statement.

"You're not as deformed as some of the other ones," he continued. "You even look normal, almost worth saving."

It was a distraction, Dean realized. He came to the realization almost too late. His eyes snapped to the side as the linebacker grinned, shoulders hunching to charge. The hate in the room reached critical and his vision swam briefly. When the room came back into focus it had a reddish tint, as though he were looking through Summers' stupid shades. The heat in his muscles was a hot fiery burn, forcing out any thoughts outside of this moment.

Die. The bastards needed to die.

The gun was still trained on the mouthy one. As the linebacker made contact with his shoulder Dean pulled the trigger. The harsh recoil against his hand and wrist felt good. Falling, Dean twisted to bring the gun against the linebacker's chest. Once again the recoil was satisfying as was the look of shock on the linebacker's face.

Two down. Still left one and odds were he was armed.

Using his feet and legs, Dean kicked the body off of him. Moron still looked surprised, even with the blank glassy stare.

The third one had a gun, Dean was right about that. He looked really pissed off too. Dean snarled as he shared the heat of this scumbag's anger.

"Drop it." This was the thin one, the one who might have been in charge. You know, when there had been guys to be in charge of.

"No." Dean leveled the gun at his face and squeezed tight on the trigger until the slightest pressure would be enough to send a bullet directly into this bastard's self-righteous face.

"You don't think you can leave here alive?" The scumbag grimaced, his gaze darting down at his former companions. "Not after killing two Purifiers." It shouldn't be possible with two of the sources gone, but even more hate filled the space between them.

And Dean didn't care too much for that term: 'Purifier.' That sounded bad on about a hundred levels.

"You need to die like a good mutant," the bastard growled at him. Dean kept his aim steady, not allowing this creep to psych him out. Only one of them would be able to walk out of here and he'd be damned if it was some "purifier" jackass.

A noise like a huge wind came through the walls. The bastard's attention shifted for a moment, just a split second. It was enough. When his attention returned to Dean, a small red hole appeared in his forehead. Dean lowered his gun. The standing dead man blinked once, like he couldn't quite figure out what changed. Then he fell to the floor in a heap.

Dean dropped the gun on one of the other 'purifiers'. The Flash costume had two things going for it: one, he had gloves and two, he had a mask. After pulling his mask back over his head and face, Dean bolted out into the hallway. He needed to find Storm and get them the hell out of here before more of these purifier bastards showed up.

"Hunter!"

Dean's attention flashed toward Cyclops' voice. A dude dressed in dark blue and bright yellow spandex wearing a yellow visor with red glass stepped through a hole in the wall. A couple of pieces of wallboard fell as he walked in, one bouncing off of Cyclops' shoulder. The uniform was too much like Logan's for Xavier not to have come up with it. Dude needed therapy. Seriously.

Cyclops brushed wall debris from his shoulder as he strode forward. "Hunter, are you all right? Your comm cut out."

"What?" His brain struggled to focus on what Cyclops was saying. All he really wanted to do was find the so-called 'purifiers' who took Storm. When he got his hands on them...

"Hunter!" Cyclops was in his face, shaking him by the shoulder. "What's wrong with you? I asked if you knew where they took Storm."

"Wind," he replied slowly, the sounds that distracted the last of his attackers making more sense now. "Just listen."

They stood still in the hall, what he could see of Cyclops' face turned down in a sour frown. It was strange but Dean couldn't sense Summers' emotions at the moment. However the same kind of hate, overpowering, vile and evil, spread from a few feet away. Dean turned to walk that way, the team leader close on his heels.

He heard Cyclops say something about 'Logan' but the rest of the words wouldn't register with his brain. At the door with the most hate pouring from it, Dean stepped back with the intent to kick it in.

"Hang on." Cyclops put out an arm to stop him. "This is kind of my area of expertise."

Dean waited impatiently, shifting from foot to foot, wondering what in the hell would happen next, when Logan and Jean ran up to join them. Logan was in that stupid bright blue and yellow outfit with the ears while Jean wore a Supergirl costume.

"You call that blending in?" he demanded sarcastically.

Logan had the nerve to grin at him. "It worked." Dean popped him in the shoulder as hard as he dared, not that he could really hurt Logan.

"Stand back," Summers warned. One hand lifted to the side of his visor. With the press of a button a red laser beam shot out at the door. The door seemed to vanish in a puff of smoke. Logan plunged through the opening with a shout.

All Dean could think was there were more of those Purifier bastards inside and he didn't have a gun anymore. Damn.

The next few minutes were a whirl. Literally. Gale force winds pummeled Stryker and his men while thunder rolled through the room hard enough to shake his body. Dean threw himself into it, reveling in the heat of battle. Each time his knuckles made contact with human flesh, the heat searing through his body flared, rejoicing in the fight. The next thing Dean knew Logan was pulling him away and out of the room. What the hell? There were still more of those purifier bastards in there!

"Easy, kid," Logan said in a sharp voice that grabbed his attention while a strong arm hustled him toward the door. "Cops are comin'. We got to leave. Now." Dean tried to make a point of never arguing when Logan growled like that, but this time it was damned difficult.

"What about Storm?" Dean protested, trying to find an excuse to go back in and finish those bastards.

"Look up there."

He tore his gaze from the doorway they just left to look ahead. Storm in that WonderWoman outfit walked ahead of them. She glanced over her shoulder with a worried expression. Dean did the same, wondering if they were being followed. Actually, he was kind of hoping for it. Would give him an excuse to keep fighting.

"Hurry," Cyclops hissed, rushing through his hole in the outer wall. He paused outside to to wave them through, then followed up the rear while Logan rushed to take point. Dean was wondering what he was supposed to be doing when Cyclops jogged up beside him. He held out a hand. "Let me see your comm."

Dean pulled it from his ear to slap into the outstretched hand as sirens sounded in the distance.

Cyclops frowned as he studied it. "I don't understand. It should have had a full charge."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. He felt amped up from the mission, especially with 5-0 breathing down their necks.

"The last thing I heard was one of those bastards telling you that you looked almost normal for a mutant," he said. "Then your comm cut out. What happened?"

Dean scowled. The heat in his muscles felt like it was seeping back into his skin making it itch. He scratched at his shoulder. "I took care of it."

"How?" Cyclops asked in an undertone.

"Permanently," Dean muttered.

"They were armed," Cyclops replied, more of a statement than a question. "You had no choice." Summers clapped a hand to his shoulder.

Dean shook Summers off with a scowl. Team Lead or no Team Lead, if Summers tried touching him one more time...

"I had our backup team pick up the car," Summers said as if he weren't about a heartbeat away from a beating. "We're taking the van."

Oh, crap. His skin was crawling with the sensation of static electricity. Dean could barely concentrate on following the others to the van, much less look out for another ambush. He rubbed his arms, scratched at his shoulders and as far down his back as he could reach. Thousands of tiny hot pinpricks danced over his skin. He wondered if he would ever be able to rid himself of this hate and anger, it felt like it was trying to eat him alive.

"Dean!" Logan was in his face now. "C'mon kid, in the van."

Dean climbed into the white van and tried to sit in the back but Logan shoved him into the seats behind the driver. Logan plopped down next to him. Jean and Storm were already seated. A couple others in the red valet jackets joined them. Dean yanked the stupid mask off his face, it made the skin underneath itch worse. Logan motioned for the gloves. He couldn't pull them off fast enough. Logan tossed them to Storm. She gave them a regal nod. Dean figured those gloves would be on the receiving end of a bolt of lightning before the night was over.

"Hunter," a thick Irish brogue came from behind him, "wha' happened t' your radio? We were worried the bloody bastards 'ad done you in."

It took Dean a moment to place the voice. Banshee. He shook his head. "Not hardly. But believe me, they tried. Has anyone heard of these Purifier bastards before?"

"Purifier?" Summers demanded from the driver's seat. "Is that what they called themselves? I don't like the sound of that."

"You shouldn't," Dean agreed. He squirmed in his seat while Logan gave him one of those 'now what' looks. "I've never felt so much hate and anger in one room." Just the thought of it sent a fresh wave of pinpricks over his skin. Dean squirmed again, scratching his arms with both hands.

"Kid, what is wrong with you?" Logan demanded with a glare.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not sure. All I know is..." The truth of this statement was nearly as frightening as what happened back at the party. He stared at Logan as he finished, "I really want to go annihilate something."

Logan frowned and gave him an odd look. "Now you're speakin' my language, kid. But you know, it don't really sound like you."

Affection came from Logan, battering against the heated pinpricks like a car scraping along a concrete highway divider, with about as much success. Dean couldn't sense anything from anyone else in the van, which was very unusual.

"Maybe Doctor McCoy can meet us when we arrive," Summers announced. "Jean? You mind?"

"What for?" Dean muttered irritably to Logan. For a moment it looked like Logan might answer him, then his friend shrugged and gazed out the front windshield. Frigging great. He couldn't concentrate on what anyone in the van said after that point, he was so distracted by the hot pricks all over his skin. They were going to eat all the skin off his body, he was sure of it, and then start in on the deeper parts.

When Summers stopped the van Dean had to look out the window for a moment to convince himself they were at the Institute. The drive felt too short, and at the same time, like it had lasted an eternity. Hank, in all his blue furry glory, stood waiting on them. When Dean stepped off the bus Hank motioned for him to follow.

"Dude, I don't need a doctor," Dean protested, scratching at his upper arm.

"The bruising on your face would suggest otherwise," Hank replied calmly. "Let's go to the lab."

"Why just me?" he demanded, his anger quick and hot. "I wasn't the only one there, you know!"

"Hunter, it would appear that your current emotional state has been compromised," Hank replied calmly. Dean tried to tell if Hank felt as calm as he sounded, but it was almost impossible. He concentrated as hard as he could until he could feel a faint sense of cool calm, not exactly sweet but at least it wasn't acrid and nasty.

"Perhaps a day or so in isolation..." Hank's voice continued as Dean realized exactly where he needed to be. There was a place where the emotions were always light and sweet, where he was always welcome, and where he had been able to rid himself of the nasty hate last time.

Ignoring the good doctor, he strode past heading for the mansion. Dean was vaguely aware of others following him and Logan's aggravation coming up quick.

"Where do ya think you're goin'?" Logan demanded in an undertone.

Dean glared back. "None of your business," he snapped. One part of his mind marveled at how quickly the anger rose, especially towards people he normally had a soft spot for. Another part of his mind hoped it wouldn't be like that where he was going. He was being drawn there, instinctively seeking a safe emotional environment. It would take an Act Of God or the entire Dallas Cowboys' defensive line to stop him now. His feet picked up speed when he hit the staircase.

A few kids indoors gave him some odd looks, no doubt for his costume. Dean felt like knocking their punk heads into the nearest wall. By concentrating on his goal he managed not to stop. When he reached the instructors hall it was all he could do not to run. Logan peeled off near their rooms, though Dean didn't care why or what his friend might be thinking. He headed straight for a specific door in the far end of the hall. When he reached it, Dean's hand pounded hard and repeatedly on the surface as if he could force her to open it faster this way.

The door opened to reveal Libby with a startled expression and still dressed for work despite the late hour, almost like she had been waiting up. Dean stepped inside and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight against him. He kicked the door closed behind him with one foot, not knowing or caring who might have seen them from the hall.

* * *

"Hold me, hold me, hold me." Dean's voice was a soft litany as Libby found herself on the receiving end of a crushing embrace. She had been waiting to hear how tonight's mission went...oh, dear. It must not have gone well. Honestly, judging by this reaction, it must have gone horribly wrong. She wondered how many from the Institute had been lost.

Libby tightened her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his and hanging on as if for dear life. She forced herself not to ponder on what might have happened and to think of every good moment, every slice of happiness Dean had brought to her. Since he was an empath this seemed like the most logical method to calm him and she hoped it would work. His head tilted down until his forehead pressed tightly against her shoulder while he continued to cling to her. Libby thought about their second date at the blues club and what a gentlemen he had been, how he had watched over her all night because there were unsavory characters lurking about. The thought brought a broad smile to her face. Then she thought about how he took care of her when she was sick and remained by her side all night. Not to mention how well he handled meeting one of the worst of her former classmates.

Dean breathed deep now, slow inhales and exhales. His crushing grip relaxed although he did not release her. Maybe it was working. She reached up to run her fingers through his hair, the soft silky strands felt like a plush animal against her skin. A stunning realization crossed her mind. Dean had obviously experienced something horrible tonight, but he was not on the phone with his father or either of his brothers, he was not hanging out with Logan or the surviving members of the team, he was _here_. He came to _her_.

Tears stung her eyes as she saw what this might mean, how much he potentially cared for her. Libby was not positive she should take this to mean what it appeared to mean, but either way, she loved him for it. Her arms squeezed tighter around his neck and she felt him lift her off her feet and take a very long, very deep breath.

"Better," he murmured against her cheek. "Thanks."

Libby nodded. "You are staying," she replied, trying to leave no room for argument. After that display she was ready to demand it.

He set her back on her feet and pulled away far enough to look her in the eye. A callused thumb reached up to rub gently against her cheek. "I don't think I'll be very good company," he replied, his tone regretful.

"I don't care," she stated, "but I have a feeling you need to stay." Libby glanced down at his Flash costume and chuckled. "I think I have a pair of your sweatpants in the other room if you want to change."

His shoulders relaxed at the suggestion and a hint of a smile played across his face, creasing the fresh bruises. "Please."

"You do smell fresh pie," Libby informed her boyfriend as she crossed the room to retrieve his clothing. "It's for you, so help yourself."

When she returned with the soft pants dangling from one hand, Dean was in the kitchen area slicing her homemade apple pie. Two rapid knocks on the door interrupted anything they might have said. Dean looked down, avoiding eye contact with her or the door. With a shrug she tossed the sweatpants over the back of her couch before answering.

Doctor McCoy and Logan stood in the hallway. "Yes?" she asked pleasantly.

"Hunter is here?" the good doctor asked. "May we speak with him for a moment?"

Libby glanced back at the kitchen but Dean was still avoiding eye contact. "Uh, I think tomorrow would be better."

"Elizabeth," Doctor McCoy whispered. He motioned for her to step out into the hall.

Although she felt terrible for 'abandoning' Dean, even for a moment, Libby stepped out and pulled her door to, not closed. "Yes?"

"How is Hunter?" the doctor asked in an urgent whisper. "The entire team reported very strange behavior during their return to the mansion."

Libby held her head high and looked them both in the eye before asking, "What kind of strange behavior?"

"Cain't sit still," Logan replied, "actin' like something is eatin' him alive, short-tempered."

Libby shook her head. "I haven't noticed any of those things."

"But you have noticed unusual behavior," Doctor McCoy pressed.

She narrowed her gaze on them. "How bad was the mission blown? How many did we lose?"

Doctor McCoy's dark eyebrows shot up and he exchanged a meaningful look with Logan.

"We didn't lose nobody, but it was bad," Logan told her in a gruff undertone. "The whole damn party was a trap for him and Ororo. We still don't know what exactly happened with him. Ororo almost took out half the buildin' with a tornado."

"She should have leveled the place," Libby replied to a set of shocked expressions. "I think Hunter is doing as well as you might expect considering the circumstances. Perhaps you should have a session with him tomorrow, Doctor McCoy, but not tonight." She turned on her heel and closed the door in their faces.

When she looked around for her boyfriend she found him staring curiously at her from the kitchen, a plate of pie in each hand.

"Is one of those for me?" Libby asked, her smile coming easily as she remembered that he was _here_. "Or do I have to wait for the next round?"

A slightly lopsided smile appeared. It was faint, but it was there. "It's for you."

Libby waved him toward the couch. "Why don't you take those over there? While you're changing out of that stupid costume I'll fix the drinks." Most people thought drinking alcohol, especially in large quantities, after a terrible experience was helpful but studies showed the opposite was true. Excessive drinking tended to enhance the memories of recent events, making the terrible experience stand out more in memory. While it was doubtful one or two beers would have the same effect, Libby chose to pour two large glasses of milk. Besides, what could possibly go better with fresh apple pie?

"I can't believe they picked the Flash for you. Batman would have been a better choice. He's much smarter and has a lot more class." The milk made a gurgling sound as it filled the glass.

"Uh, I think it was because Flash is a smart-ass," Dean replied. He still sounded too distant for her taste.

Libby rolled her eyes as she put the milk container away. "And the costume is red. Don't you teach people how not to stand out?"

He was tying the drawstring of his pants when she picked up the two full glasses. Most of his chest and back varied in color from a deep purple to dark red, proving how bad tonight had gone. "That was kind of the point," he said in a heavy voice. "We wanted to be noticed, to draw their attention. Guess it worked too well."

She wanted to ask why it worked too well, how it worked too well, and what exactly happened to earn him all that bruising, but that was the wrong way to go about it. Libby swallowed down her questions and smiled as she handed over his glass.

"Milk?" Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Libby made a face. "Beer does not go with apple pie. Period. You'll never convince me otherwise."

The faint smile returned. "Yeah, okay." A lone chuckle escaped but she heard no mirth in it.

After sitting with her leg pressed tight against his, she turned on her television to some late night talk show, mostly for a distraction, while they ate their pie. Dean went back for seconds. And thirds.

"I should hang on to this recipe?" she asked, pretending to tease after he sat down with his third helping.

He nodded, his mouth half full when he answered, "It's awesome."

"I could whip up some real food for you," she offered.

Dean shook his head, pointing at the pie with his fork. Libby supposed this was as good a time as any to start phase two. She turned sideways on the couch to place her hands on his shoulders. He groaned in a good way before shifting to give her better access to his back. Libby grinned to herself as she began his back massage. He might talk about it tonight, he might not. She knew he would need to eventually and often sooner was better, but everyone was different. Libby would have to figure out for herself what was best for Dean.

She couldn't remember him ever being this quiet. At least, not when he was awake.

Dean moved off the couch to sit on the floor between her feet. Now Libby could use her weight as she massaged his broad shoulders. He grunted when she reached a section where the skin was already turning from angry red to purple, the promise of a deep bruise to come. It matched a number of large areas on his abdomen.

"You're pretty beat up," Libby observed. "If we don't stretch out and relax these muscles tonight you'll be sore tomorrow."

He turned around to rest against her thighs and peer up at her. "You're too good for me. You know that? You deserve somebody who wears a suit."

Libby scowled. "Boring. Now are you going to stretch or do I have to hear you complaining all day tomorrow? I think I have some of that stuff you rub on the skin that heats up the muscles..." her voice trailed off at the look of horror on his face. "Or not," she added quickly, one hand resting against his cheek. "Whatever it is, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

His eyes closed and he took two deep breaths. When they opened again he gazed at her for a long moment. "Do you know what real hate feels like?"

"You don't mean, I hate that dress or I hate peas, do you?" Libby asked gently, caressing the sides of his face.

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing again. "No," he whispered. Dean rested his head in her lap but he appeared terribly uncomfortable, sitting on the floor and leaning bent over like that. Libby scooted off the sofa on to the floor and patted her lap. This time his arms wrapped around her waist as his head landed in her lap. She stroked his hair and face for a while.

"What does it feel like?" Libby finally asked. She had a feeling she did not want to hear his answer, but this might be the thing bothering him most, what he needed to talk about.

He sighed deeply, his arms tightening around her. "It starts in your skin, like a million ants trying to eat you alive. Then it sinks in deeper and it's hot and burning. All you can think of is how much you want to kill." His body shuddered. Libby pretended not to notice as she continued her petting and wondered if he was aware of it. "And it tastes nasty, like old gym socks."

At least now she understood why he wouldn't want to use any deep-heating products. It looked like she would have to put up with him moaning and complaining all day tomorrow.

Hold on...

"Tastes?" Libby asked curiously. "You taste emotions?"

His eyes opened and he gazed up at her. "Sure. Don't you?"

"Wait. Emotions actually have a flavor?" she continued. "Really?"

Dean's brow furrowed as he nodded. "Yeah. Always have. Why? Isn't that normal?"

She smiled broadly at him. If they were still together in twenty years, she had no doubt that he would be able to continually surprise her. "I've never heard of it. You should mention it to Doctor McCoy. I'm sure he would find it fascinating." She tried to mimic the doctor's voice.

He chuckled and closed his eyes, relaxing in her lap. Libby turned the idea over and over in her mind as she stroked his hair, caressed his face and neck, and rubbed his bare shoulder and upper arm.

"What do my emotions taste like?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

"Good," he mumbled, sounding half asleep. "Kind of like apple pie."

"Which do you like better?" As long as they were being open and honest here, why not?

He snuggled closer, pressing his nose into her abdomen. "You." His voice was muffled against her clothing.

She giggled and swatted at his shoulder. "I meant the taste."

One eye opened to regard her. "Me too." His eye closed and his shoulders drooped, so maybe he was relaxing. Good.

Dean appeared like he could fall sound asleep any second so Libby continued paying him attention while amusing herself with the late-late-late show starting on television. The remote was out of her reach and she refused to bother Dean just to change the stupid channel. After a while Libby shifted them so she could support her head on the arm of the sofa. Her eyelids grew heavy and the commercials were beginning to look more like info-mercials.

Next thing she knew the room was quiet and Dean was lifting her off the floor.

"I can walk," she protested, hearing how her voice slurred from still being half-asleep. "Don't hurt yourself."

Dean set her on her feet and ran a hand against the side of her head, his fingers tangling in the hair still pulled back in a knot. She expected him to say something then, maybe even to thank her, but he leaned down and pulled her into a breath-taking kiss. When their lips parted she had to pant for air and sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. Dean smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and the whole room felt lighter, happier.

"Thanks," he breathed. "I owe you."

Libby tried to protest that he didn't owe her anything, but he leaned in to kiss her again. His tongue did that thing which always made her knees weak, forcing her to throw her arms around his neck and hold on. Really. She had no choice in the matter.

When he broke their kiss this time Dean did not pull away. Instead he kissed along her jaw, then he kissed his way slowly up until his lips were next to her ear. "You are going to let me thank you." His breath was warm and moist against her skin, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

"God, yes," she whispered, hoping she could hold it together long enough to make it to the bedroom.

There was a loud, deep chuckle followed by Dean bending over. Before she could wonder about his actions, his shoulder was in her stomach and he stood up. Libby dangled from his shoulder, her backside sticking straight up and Dean holding her by the legs.

"Come on, woman," he declared with a soft slap to her backside. "Tonight we're gonna find out how many uses there are for that chocolate syrup."

There was no doubt in her mind now: there was a God, and he liked her.


	76. Chapter 76: After the Party

Chapter 76 – **After the Party**

Logan needed a vacation. Between checkin' up on Dean, Kitty, and the brat Bobby, he was 'bout wore out. And he still had classes t' teach. Good thing Libby was around t' help out with Dean, and he never thought he'd say _that_. Kid didn't want to look nobody who was on the mission in the eye. Like they was going to blame 'im for bein' an empath? Please. He was even hidin' out at Libby's place durin' supper every night.

That was about t' change. The team had had enough of Dean's moodiness. Funny thing was, even Hank agreed. Now Libby was bein' real protective so gettin' her on board could be a mite tricky. Good thing Hank volunteered for that. He kind of missed the old days where he didn't have nobody else to worry about it. Life was simple then. Find the bad guy. Kill the bad guy. Move on.

First part of The Plan was goin' t' Dean's class. At least the kid wasn't ditchin' his classes. Logan walked into the second Legends class of the day, the one Bobby Drake was in. Dean stopped talkin' to watch 'im. Logan took a seat in the back of the room in an empty desk. He crossed his arms over 'is chest and glared, lettin' the kid know just how irritatin' he was.

That kid who c'n go invisible, Joe, raised 'is hand. "Professor Hunter?"

Dean tried t' look at Joe, but 'is eyes kept jumpin' back t' Logan. "What is it, Joe?"

"Can I ask about something Mister Winchester told us?" Joe asked.

Dean sighed and sat on the corner of 'is desk. "Fire away."

"Mister Winchester said we shouldn't tell anybody about supernatural creatures. That we do what we do and shut up about it." Joe frowned. "What do we do and why do we shut up about it?"

"I take it my dad didn't let you ask many questions?" Dean asked.

"He didn't like questions," one of the girls said with a nasty scowl.

"All right." Dean shrugged and scratched at the back of 'is neck. "Let's talk about it." He tossed the stapled booklet he had been holdin' on 'is desk. With another wary glance at Logan, Dean nodded to Joe. "First let me explain why Dad said that and then we can talk about it.

"Dad believes that regular people, people who don't already hunt these monsters, are safer not knowing about them. Some average schmuck, if he knew about it, might decide to go out hunting and get himself killed. And he's right about that." Dean shrugged again. "When I started hunting on my own I met a guy named Ricky. He's a good guy but he has no business hunting and if he keeps it up something is going to get the jump on him. Ricky is one of those average schmucks my dad is always worried about."

"Did you tell that Ricky guy he shouldn't hunt?" the brat, Bobby Drake, asked. It was the most Logan had heard 'im say outside of 'is sessions with Hank.

"Did my best to talk him out of it," Dean replied. "I hope he listened."

Joe raised his hand again. "Professor Hunter? Is that what Mister Winchester meant about doing what we do? He was talking about hunting? But we don't hunt."

Dean's gaze swept slowly over the class, like he had ta make a big decision. He gripped the desk with both hands, lookin' over 'em all again. "You may not hunt, but it looks like you're being hunted. By the monsters."

The whole room went dead quiet. Logan studied the class' reactions. One-a these days, in a few short years, some of these brats could be on his team fighting by 'is side. He needed to know how they would act.

Bobby Drake was the first one-a the brats to raise his hand. Dean nodded to 'im. "I don't want my mom to know," he said. It looked like Drake was on a roll t'day. "She'd freak. And it wouldn't matter how much proof you gave my father, he still wouldn't believe you." He frowned at Dean, tapping a couple fingers on 'is desk. "Speaking of my dad, how did your friends convince my parents to let them put up all those demon protections?"

"They lied," Dean said and some-a the brats laughed. "Basically your father believes you might be majoring in theology and that you honestly believe demons are real."

"They are," a couple of voices from around the room chimed in.

"Sure, but most people don't think so. Bobby's father only allowed their house to be protected so Bobby would stop worrying about his mom. Now how many of you think everyone should be told?" he asked.

Some hands went into the air.

"Who thinks no one should be told?" Dean asked.

A different set of hands went up. Logan had ta sit through more mealy-mouthed "But I think" and "Wouldn't it be great if" and "How come they" crap than he ever had in his life. Then Dean started it up again in the next class. Kid prob'bly thought it would run him off. Came damn close, but Logan was stubborn. He stayed.

"That it?" Logan demanded from 'is seat in the back as the brats filed out.

"Until after lunch," Dean replied. "Then I have that stupid intro to hand-to-hand combat class, thanks to you, followed by the last two urban camo classes of the day."

"Good." He stood. "You're eatin' lunch with me."

Dean glanced at his open classroom door.

"Kid, you know I c'n run ya into the ground. Don't even think about it," Logan warned, unable to keep the growl out of his voice.

"I'm supposed to meet Libby for lunch," he said, not makin' eye contact.

"She's s'posed to be there," Logan replied. "C'mon, kid. Don't turn inta a brat on me."

Dean hopped off his desk and stuffed 'is hands in 'is pockets. "Whatever. Let's go."

Logan had an urge to knock the chip right off Dean's shoulder. He also wanted to remind the kid that family wasn't defined by blood, just like Dean was always pointin' out to him. Unfortunately he couldn't do neither. With a rough shove, Logan pushed Dean out of the classroom.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked after they passed the kitchen.

"There's food," Logan replied gruffly. "Didn't think ya'd care so long as there's food." He led Dean right up to The Professor's office door.

Dean stopped outside in the hall and frowned. "Libby," he mumbled, "Hank, Xavier, Summers, Storm..." Now he looked Logan in the eye, and he was pissed. "What the hell is going on, Logan?"

"Just a few people who want ta talk to ya, that's all." Logan shoved the door open, revealing all the people Dean had named and more.

"Hunter! It's about time," Summers called out. Their team leader shoved his way through the crowd, a big smile on his face. "Burgers, hotdogs, chili, you name it. Better hurry before Hank has his turn."

Libby slipped up to stand beside 'im and grabbed 'is hand. She whispered in 'is ear and Dean rolled 'is eyes. It was the most normal thing Logan had seen the kid do since the whole costume party mess.

"I heard that Scott," Hank said pleasantly. "However, since Hunter is the guest of honor..." He swept out a hand towards the table laden with food. Most conversation in the room died off and folks made way for Dean and Libby.

Dean looked like he might be sick as he led Libby up ta the table. They filled their plates. It was kind-a funny, because once they had their food, all the conversations in the room started back up. The kid was allowed ta stand there for maybe ten seconds before Sean and Kurt, who was arguin' about some Irish folklore, asked for Dean's opinion. Logan mighta been th' only person to see Libby give the kid a gentle push. It took a few minutes of talkin' but then them three was cuttin' up like usual.

Satisfied, Logan went to the table to grab 'is own lunch. When he joined the growing circle around Dean and Libby, Kurt was tellin' one-a his bad jokes. Logan knocked inta Dean's arm and shook his head when Dean looked at 'im. Dean chuckled, taking another bite of 'is burger.

* * *

Hank watched his favorite regular patient closely, noticing how Hunter relaxed and fell into normal interactions as the intervention progressed. Elizabeth appeared to remain on guard, however, as if she were waiting for a careless remark. Hank imagined she would spring on such a remark like a lioness taking down its prey.

When the end of the lunch hour approached, instructors excused themselves to attend to their various classes. Hank hung back to follow Hunter and Elizabeth.

"Hunter, do you mind if I accompany you to the next class?" he asked as pleasantly as he could.

Hunter leaned over to kiss Elizabeth on the cheek. "Later, Baby," he whispered. She winked before walking away.

"I doubt I have ever seen our Librarian so happy," Hank observed.

"Did I pass?" Hunter demanded, shooting him a hard glare.

"With flying colors," Hank confirmed.

"Does this mean I can skip out on therapy today?" he asked. "I kind of think that's the least you could do."

Hank considered it. "Very well, if you insist. May I ask when your brother Sam is due to arrive?"

Hunter shrugged. "He hasn't answered my last letter. Yet."

"Letter?" Hank studied his patient. "Why did you write a letter? I thought you were on speaking terms?"

Hunter sighed, looking tired and weary. "Every time I talk to Sam I wind up hanging up on him. Libby says that's one of the reasons Sam's being so damned unreasonable. I think it's because he's just like Dad and it won't matter if I hang up or not, but I don't want her mad at me too. So I wrote another damn letter." He stopped in the corridor outside the gym. Hank could see through the window three men dressed in only sweatpants waiting to begin this intro class. "Did I screw that up too?"

"You haven't screwed up anything," Hank replied calmly. "Actually, I think it was a very astute and responsible decision."

Hunter stood blinking at him for a long moment. "You mean you think I did the right thing?" He appeared perplexed.

"Yes. If one line of communication works better than another, then it's obviously the better choice," Hank explained. "Ah, before you begin class, may I ask a favor?"

"Anything so long as it isn't a double-session tomorrow," Hunter said firmly.

Hank had to smile at the characteristic response. It was good to once again see Hunter behaving normally. "I was hoping you might help out with Bobby Drake. I believe you are correct in thinking that something calamitous happened, as Logan puts it, between the beer and the bathroom. Young Bobby is being most stubborn in not talking about it. Perhaps if he could discuss it with someone who was there, and has suffered the very loss which spurred him to run away in the first place, it could go a long way to encouraging him to open up."

Hunter leaned back against the window. "I'll make a deal with you. If I convince Bobby to talk, I get a whole week off from therapy."

Oh, dear. "Hunter, you do realize it has been through our sessions that you have learned to control your ability and maintain your emotional balance? Which was recently seriously compromised?"

"Dude, I'm not talking about forever, I'm talking about taking one frigging week off. A vacation. That's all." Hunter shrugged. "Besides, I'm still doing the meditations every morning and in the evenings." He sighed heavily and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Because it works."

"It's not because our beloved Librarian is making you?" Hank asked.

"That too." He stood up straight as one of the gentlemen inside the gym began tapping on the window from the inside. "Look, I need to go. Do me a favor and get Summers to switch detention days with me this week so I have Bobby today, all right? I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Hunter. Have a pleasant class." Hank began to turn away and turned back with a jerk. "But don't get too rough. You're still healing."

"Thanks, mom." Hunter rushed into the gym, no doubt seeking his escape.

* * *

"Ah, Scott." Professor Xavier said as he entered his mentor's office. "I have found the problem with Hunter's comm." The Professor tossed the small device at him.

Scott plucked the comm from the air as it arced toward him. "What was it? I was positive they all had a full charge before the mission."

"I am sure it did," Xavier confirmed. "This one shorted out."

Scott studied it curiously, turning it over in his palm. "It was a dud?"

"Oh, no," the Professor replied. "I didn't say there was anything wrong with the comm, I said it shorted out." He nodded knowingly at Scott. "As I recall, it stopped transmitting shortly after Hunter and Storm were separated. Immediately after one of the Purifiers told Hunter he looked almost normal, almost worth saving, is when it went out. Am I correct?"

Scott nodded, not understanding where the Professor was going with this.

"When Hunter's abilities first became obvious, he gave off energy readings so high Doctor McCoy's equipment was unable to measure it."

Scott's eyebrows shot up.

"I suspect Hunter himself shorted out the comm," Xavier explained.

Scott eyed the worthless device in his hand and thought over all of the instances when Hunter had used the ability to fit in for him. Rubbing the earpiece with his thumb, he replied, "Whenever Hunter shields us I can feel a tingle sweep across my skin, like static electricity." He tossed it back on The Professor's desk. "It was pretty obvious he was in overload. I guess that would account for it."

"Indeed," Professor Xavier said. "We will undoubtedly have to face these so-called Purifiers again and I worry about Hunter's future reactions."

"He was alone," Scott pointed out. "Maybe we need to make sure he stays teamed up with someone he'll listen to. I'll talk to Logan."

"Perhaps you should also speak with The Librarian, to be certain she will be on call after missions," The Professor suggested.

Surely The Professor wasn't serious? "Sir, after what I saw last time, I don't think anyone needs to talk to Libby about it. And if you try, I have a feeling you're going to insult her and Hunter."

Professor Xavier picked up the shorted-out comm and nodded. "You may be right, Scott. Very well, but please speak with Logan. I'm afraid he has a bit of a blind spot when it comes to Hunter."

"Sure, Professor. Anything else?" He had a mountain of paperwork back in his office. Ororo was great at keeping the kids in line and making sure the class schedules ran smoothly, but paperwork? She let it all pile up on his desk while he had been out searching for Bobby Drake and now he could barely see over the top.

"Just one more thing. Doctor McCoy informs me that he would like for Hunter to take Bobby Drake's detention today. Something about making him open up about what happened between the beer and the bathroom, whatever that is supposed to mean," Xavier informed him.

"Oh," Scott said, the reference familiar. "Hunter and Logan are convinced Bobby hasn't told us everything that happened when he was being held in the back of that bar. Hank must want Hunter to work on Bobby some more."

"It would seem everything else would be trivial in comparison with being chained to a hot stove, however, Doctor McCoy is typically correct in such matters," Xavier replied. "I won't keep you from your duties any longer."

"Thanks, Professor," Scott said. "I'll let Bobby know about detention."

* * *

Bobby Drake stood out under the big oak where Professor Hunter liked to hold Urban Camo classes when the weather was warmer. It was still one of his favorite classes but since coming back his heart just hadn't been in it. But Math, English, Literature, and Science? He studied those every night, like it or not. Myths and Legends? Bobby had memorized all of the important stuff in the current booklet. He was working on memorizing the older stuff now.

He crouched down to sit on the thin layer of snow covering the ground. It was a nice day, his kind of weather. The sky was a cold blue, the sun shone brightly and reflected off all of the beautiful white, and a constant gentle breeze blew against his face. Feeling unusually safe and secure, he closed his eyes and lifted his face to the cool breeze.

What few leaves were left in the tree rustled in the breeze above him. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to hear the sound of his heart beating. Bobby rested his hands on his knees as he blanked his mind, forcing out all thoughts. The sounds of the breeze blowing through the tree at his back became his whole world.

"Nice day." Professor Hunter's voice was soft, like the breeze. It didn't startle him at all. It kind of felt like his teacher had been here all along.

"Yeah," Bobby breathed out, keeping his eyes closed. There did not seem to be a need to open them.

"Turned your homework in early," Professor Hunter said. "I hear you're doing that in all your classes."

Bobby nodded, enjoying feeling calm and safe. It seemed like a whole lifetime had passed since the last time he felt this safe.

"How long do you think you can hold up your end of the deal?"

Now Bobby opened his eyes. Professor Hunter sat next to him leaning against the same tree and staring out towards the library, his face kind of blank.

"What deal?" he asked cautiously.

Hunter's face creased with a small knowing smile. "The one you made with God. Let me guess, if you made it out alive, you'd be a better student?"

"And my mom," Bobby added, wondering how the hell even his teacher could have guessed that one.

"Big stakes," his teacher said, nodding his head like he approved. "I like it. But, uh, don't burn yourself out."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

"I mean..." Professor Hunter relaxed against the tree and rolled his head to the side to look at Bobby. "If you wear yourself out now, you won't be able to keep that promise for long."

"Oh." Bobby hadn't thought about it like that before. "Doctor McCoy has been talking about pacing myself. That's what he means, huh?"

"Probably," his teacher replied. "You're supposed to be in detention right now, you know."

"I know." Bobby copied the professor's pose relaxing against the tree. "What are we doing? Laps like Joe had to? Push-ups?"

"Worse." Professor Hunter sighed. "We have to talk."

"What about?" Bobby asked. He couldn't imagine what his teacher might want to know, unless... He swallowed hard.

"That." His teacher rolled his head to the side again. "Listen, Bobby, I know you've been holding back. I know whatever happened in the back of that bar scared the crap out of you." This was one of the few people Bobby knew he could do more than trust, he knew he could depend on Professor Hunter.

"I have a condition," Bobby said slowly. He met his teacher's steady gaze. "You've been acting weird for the past couple of days and there have been a lot of rumors about a blown mission. I want to know what happened."

His teacher groaned and leaned forward to rest his forearms against his knees. "Oh, kid, do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"Yeah," Bobby said in a quiet voice. "I want to know why you've been as scared as me. And..." He shrugged. "How you stopped."

"Stopped?" Professor Hunter gave him an odd look. "What makes you think I stopped?"

"You started acting more normal today," Bobby replied. "Like now."

His teacher nodded and ran a hand down his face. "Yeah, about that. I'm not positive I've stopped, but I'm better. Want to know why?"

Bobby nodded eagerly.

"I have some stubborn-ass friends." He shot Bobby a quick grin. "I guess what I was really afraid of was what they thought of me. After."

"After what?" Bobby asked. He couldn't imagine it being worse than what had happened to him, but at the same time, he hoped it was. It was a terrible thing to hope for, wasn't it? But if Professor Hunter could deal with something even worse, then there might be hope for him.

In the same soft tone that said 'nice day' Professor Hunter began to describe a costume party. The story turned from a fancy party into his teacher being trapped in a room with three guys who wanted to kill him.

"What happened?" Bobby asked breathlessly.

Professor Hunter looked him in the eye. "They beat the crap out of me." He popped his neck before pointing to his jaw. "Can't you see it?"

"Oh, yeah," Bobby replied, staring at the dark bruise. "I can't believe I didn't see that before..." The memory of walking through a convenience store as an iceman flashed through his mind. "You didn't want us to see it, did you?"

"The adults around here are bad enough," his teacher replied, "I didn't want all the kids asking what happened too."

"That's it? They beat the crap out of you?" Bobby asked, amazed such a trivial thing could phase Professor Hunter.

"No." His voice took on a soft and serious tone, which sent a shiver of fear down Bobby's spine. His gaze dropped to the snow covered ground. "There were three of them. One guy was freaking huge, like he played football. Just the three of them and me all alone in this little room." He glanced over at Bobby. "You know I'm an empath too, right?"

Bobby nodded. His teacher returned to staring at one of the footpaths about ten feet in front of them.

"I never knew anyone could hate that much. Hate me that much." He shuddered, running his hands over his upper arms, pausing to scratch at his shoulder. "I couldn't deal with it. Their hate kind of...rubbed off. Next thing I knew, I was so mad I saw red and all I wanted to do was kill the bastards."

Bobby waited but his teacher, his favorite teacher, was quiet. "What happened to those guys?" he asked, already figuring he knew the answer.

"I'm here," Professor Hunter said, turning to look at Bobby again. "I didn't think about it, I didn't hesitate. I just took care of it." He scratched at his neck and shoulder. "I guess maybe I scared myself."

Wow. Man, that made Bobby's story look kind of pathetic in comparison. He wanted to tell it even less now.

"Your turn," Hunter insisted. "After you iced down that keg, what happened?"

"Professor Hunter," he started to protest, but his teacher cut him off.

"Dean," Professor Hunter said.

Bobby looked at him, astounded. "What?"

"Well, I figure after all we've been through, we should be on a first name basis. Call me Dean." He appeared to be serious, not messing with Bobby.

All thoughts of protest flew from his mind, replaced by the image of those horrible green eyes. "Sure," he whispered, mouth dry. "I, uh, don't need that anti-possession charm."

His teacher's brow furrowed and he nodded slowly, remaining quiet to allow Bobby to tell his story his way.

"You never mentioned that demons could have eyes that are other colors, like green," Bobby continued. He was kind of proud of the fact his voice wasn't all squeaky, especially since he had planned on taking this story with him to the grave. He tried swallowing again, his throat and mouth totally dry. "The, uh, demon, he wanted to know what the demon from those nightmares wants with me."

Bobby waited a moment, expecting his teacher to ask at least one question, but Professor Hunter stayed silent. An uncomfortable heat crawled up his neck and rushed into his cheeks.

"I wouldn't answer his – its – questions, so the demon decided to possess me." Bobby tried to swallow again, the horrifying memory enough to cause every muscle in his body to tense and ice to coat his hands. "That bar guy, Bull, he took my protection charms, so I figured I was toast." His teacher nodded once slowly. "The green-eyed demon left the guy it used to come in. I thought I could say the exorcism thing you taught us real quick, but the second I opened my mouth it flew in."

His ice-coated hands clinked, the first clue he had that he was shaking. Bobby clenched his hands and the ice flowed evenly over them, filling in the cracks he caused.

"Th-the first time, I was able to spit it out." His breathing turned heavy, like he had been running. "But the second time..." Bobby's voice cracked, just like the ice on his hands. He shook it off and shoved both hands into the thin layer of snow on the ground. His whole body trembled and he thought maybe this was how people shook when they were too cold. It wasn't a nice feeling.

Then warmth, the good kind, landed on the back of his neck. Bobby closed his eyes, welcoming the calm soothing feelings. After a few moments he noticed that a hand rested on the back of his neck.

"Thanks," he croaked, his voice hoarse and dry.

"Easy, Bobby," Professor Hunter said, his voice smooth and easy, like the breeze blowing across Bobby's face.

Keeping his eyes closed, Bobby screwed up his courage to tell the rest of the weirdness that happened. "The second time it burned all the way down my throat. I remember thinking how much I wanted to pull it out, how I would do anything to make the burning stop. I stuck two fingers down my throat, I guess to try and make myself throw up, but I didn't. I iced it out."

Gentle pressure to the side of his neck from the professor's fingers made him open his eyes. "In your throat?" his teacher asked, eyes focused only on him. "You iced it while it was still...?" Professor Hunter motioned to his own chest and Bobby nodded.

"That worked?" he asked. Bobby nodded again.

"Damn. No wonder you didn't want to talk about it." Bobby expected the comforting hand on his neck to pull away but it didn't. "Breathe, Bobby."

He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath. Bobby released the burning air in his lungs, relieved to pull in cool, crisp, fresh air.

"So the green-eyed demon wants to know what the yellow-eyed demon is up to." Professor Hunter shook his head like he couldn't believe it. "Let's hope they're really that disorganized. Anything else?"

Another shudder tore through Bobby as the image of those green eyes flashed in his memory. "Just that it promised to look in on my mom."

"She's fine," his teacher insisted. "Your house is probably the second safest place from demons in the world, all right?" The hand gave his neck another soft squeeze. "When you think you have it together, we can go inside. I know you want to work on your homework."

"There's one more thing," Bobby said, so glad to be finally able to pass on this information. "The demon with the green eyes called the yellow-eyed one something."

"Bitch?" Professor Hunter asked with a smile and even though Bobby didn't really feel like joking, it actually made him feel a little better.

"Uh, no." A weak smile forced its way on to his face. "I'm pretty sure it said Azazel."

"Great, more research." Professor Hunter slumped against the tree, his hand falling away from Bobby's neck. "On second thought, we can hang out here for a while. I hear I can write excuses for not doing your homework."

Bobby shook his head even as he leaned back to join his teacher. "Nah, I'll do it." He rested for a while before questions began nagging at him. "Professor Hunter?"

"I thought you were going to call me Dean," Professor Hunter replied.

Bobby considered it for all of half a second. "I don't know. I think I like Professor."

His teacher shrugged. "Whatever. What's the question?"

"When you, ah, I mean, those guys?" he struggled to find the right words. "Well, did they have guns?"

"I know two of them did," Professor Hunter said from beside him. "The third one I think preferred beating people to death." His hands tapped against his thighs. "You know, I'm not sorry for what I did. It wasn't like they gave me a whole lot of choice. I just..." He grunted and slapped his palms against his legs. "I hope you never hate anything like that, Bobby. Ever."

"I'm pretty sure I hate demons," Bobby replied, not feeling ashamed for it in the least.

"Not like that, you don't." Professor Hunter's mossy green gaze landed heavily on him. "Unfortunately, I know this stuff."

"Hold on," Bobby said. "You said you hope I never hate anything like that, not that you hope no one will hate me like that."

"Number one, they already do." He gave Bobby a sad look. "But I think you know that. Number two, when someone hates you that much, it's really their problem, not yours. When you hate 'em back the same way, you make it your problem."

"But if someone hates me that much, isn't that a problem for me?" Bobby asked, thinking back to the idiot Bull.

"Not when I'm around," Professor Hunter promised with a slap to Bobby's knee. "I'm hungry and my ass is frozen solid. You good?"

"Dean?" Bobby fully expected to be chewed out, but his teacher simply looked expectantly at him. "Sorry I missed movie night."

Professor Hunter, Dean, rolled his eyes and chuckled lightly. "Murderers and demons, and you're worried about movie night? Now I see why Summers is concerned about your priorities." He stood and beat the ice coating from the back of his jeans. Then he held out a hand. "Come on, Bobby. Libby promised me some of these awesome pastry things with fruit inside."

He hesitated before grabbing the offered hand and allowing his teacher to pull him to his feet. "I still don't want to go home."

"Hell, after that, I don't want you to go either."


	77. Chapter 77: Seminar Time

Chapter 77 – **Seminar Time**

Bag slung over one shoulder, Sam hopped out of the cab he had shared with Jess. She gave him a kiss before taking the cab to the far side of campus where her dorm was.

Sam waved as the cab pulled away, feeling relieved at being left alone. Spending time with Jess' family had been fun. For a while. He was kind of maxed out and looking forward to a little 'Sam-time'. After checking the mail, there were a few envelopes, Sam headed inside. He tossed his bag in the middle of the room before plopping down on his couch and stretching out. Ah, it was good to be home.

Sam flipped through the mail, resting the envelopes on his chest. Two bills and a letter from Dean? Weird. He dropped the bills on the floor beside him to stare at the address in Dean's handwriting. Back to letters. Was this so Dean could chew him out without him being able to defend himself? Crap.

Sam tore open the envelope to shake out the letter. Only one page. With a deep breath he unfolded the single page. Then he sat bolt upright. Sam dropped the letter to use both fists to rub his eyes. He couldn't have read that correctly. He scrambled to pick the letter back up.

Dean apologized? To _him_?

And once again Dean was offering to take care of his trip to that school. Using his upper teeth to worry his lower lip, Sam stared at the letter in his hands. An apology for hanging up, followed by an apology for talking poorly about Jess.

Wow. Dean had changed. But maybe a little too much. Biting down harder on his lip, Sam read the letter through again. He didn't particularly like how much emphasis his brother put on this girlfriend either.

Damn. Maybe he should call Professor Melton and see when he could start his sessions up again. Looked like he had a lot to talk about.

* * *

Dean stood in front of another roomful of nurses to inform them about the best ways to avoid being mugged or attacked. It was amazing how many of them admitted to the fact they would ignore a creepy guy hanging around the parking area or a bad feeling like someone was watching them just because they felt tired.

"Having a bad day or feeling tired is not a good excuse," he lectured. "The bad guys don't care if you've already had a bad day. They don't care if you're tired. As a matter of fact, they prefer it. Anything that makes you careless is good for them. Next time you feel too tired to be aware of your surroundings, what would help you do it anyway?"

A few hands went into the air. This group wasn't as lively as yesterday's, but Dean was just getting warmed up.

* * *

Sam paced in front of Professor Melton's office waiting for his appointment. Dean's letter was tucked securely in his pocket. After what felt like an eternity the door opened.

"Come in, Sam," Professor Melton said pleasantly.

Sam rushed inside to take his seat on the sofa. One knee bounced anxiously while he waited for the professor to sit at his desk.

"I take it you had an interesting winter break?" his therapist asked with a smile. "Your brother did show for the big New Year's get-together?"

"Yeah, yeah, he did," Sam replied with a rushed nod. "But I want to talk about this letter he sent." He whipped the page from his pocket. "I'm not sure what to make of it."

"Letter?" Professor Melton asked, reaching out for the paper. "You just saw each other in person. Why in the world would he need to write a letter?" He sat, skimming the stupid letter. A frown creased his face. "Oh, I see."

He lowered the paper to his desk and gave Sam a disapproving look. "Sam? What did you say about your brother's girlfriend?"

Sam felt heat crawl into his cheeks. "It wasn't that bad."

"What wasn't that bad?" Melton insisted.

"Look," Sam snapped, a little surprised by how quick he was to anger. He had thought he had this under better control lately. "He invited me out to see this so-called school of his but he doesn't want my girlfriend to come. Something about her father being too closed-minded." Sam waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Like that's Jess' fault. He didn't call me before he left to go back to that school, and he said he would. He called me hours and hours after he'd arrived with some weak excuse about being asleep. Then he actually told me that it was his girlfriend who woke him up to chew him out for not calling her when he'd arrived, and that being bitched out for not calling was 'the theme'," he punctuated it with air quotes, "for the day." He snorted derisively.

"What was your response, Sam?" Professor Melton asked.

Sam looked away. This shouldn't be the point. The point ought to be how unreasonable Dean's behavior was. "I might have asked if, uh..." He shrugged.

"Asked what?"

Sam rolled his eyes all the way up to the ceiling, expecting Melton to react the same way Jess had. "If the librarian thing was part of her act," he replied with heavy resignation.

"I see."

Sam dropped his gaze to Professor Melton who was staring intently at him and waited.

"Does your brother have a history of dating strippers?" he asked, much to Sam's relief.

"Yeah, actually, he does. And I don't think I've ever, and I mean ever, seen him date one girl for more than a week. At least, not exclusively," Sam amended quickly. "Now suddenly he's teaching school and been dating one chick for two months?" He snorted again and crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "Yeah, right. And I'm the queen of England. And the bastard keeps hanging up on me."

"Sam, I would like to return to this subject later. Right now, however, I'd like you to tell me about New Year's," Melton requested.

Relieved, Sam launched into a quick explanation of his family gathering. He even mentioned how uncomfortable he had felt at first and it was Dean who kind of forced him to join in. After that it went really well, he thought, until his brother had to be called away to aid in the search for a missing student.

"Did they find him?" Melton asked, leaning forward on his desk, concern etched in his features.

"Yeah, actually, they did. In the same area Jess' parents live. They all dropped by for dinner before heading back," Sam replied. He almost mentioned how the boy had been abducted but held back, feeling that was more Dean's business than some busy-body therapist. "I guess Dean didn't care for Jess' family too much."

"That may account for the apology here," Melton stated, holding up Dean's letter again. "Tell me, does your brother suffer from low self-esteem?"

"What?" Sam sat forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. "What are you talking about?"

"Here at the end," Melton pointed out Dean's parting dig at Sam. "This part about your brother not attracting classy women. It sounds like a specific reference to how he used to date strippers and he thinks you're judging her based on his history."

Sam scowled and leaned back into the couch. "So? Can you really blame me?"

"There is no blame here, Sam," his therapist chided. "I take it after the 'part of her act' reference, Dean sent this letter?"

"Uh, well..." Sam cleared his throat. "Actually, it was after he kind of chewed me out for dating Jess. Because of her family."

"Oh." He read through the letter again. "Yes, that makes perfect sense. He even recognizes the fact he was lashing out at you." Melton's gaze rested on Sam again. "Are you quite certain your brother is not in therapy? I see the earmarks of classic techniques in his letter."

"You're kidding." Sam frowned deeply. "Like what?"

"The entire first paragraph is very introspective. He analyzes his tendency to hang up on you, first attributing it to being moodier and then to your habit of interrupting him. Do you interrupt your brother?"

"Only when he's wrong," he muttered.

"And how often is your brother wrong?" the professor asked. "Is it rare, occasional, or often?"

"You mean in general, or each time I talk to him?" Sam asked, hoping to clarify.

"Each time you talk to him," Melton replied.

"At least once," Sam replied in a rush, "but you've never met my brother. You can't understand if you've never met him. He's...uh...arrogant. And-and chases any woman with a pulse. I mean, he can't be dating just one chick! It's not possible."

"One chick," Professor Melton said with an amused expression. "I doubt I've heard that particular vernacular from you before."

"Everyone talks that way," Sam snapped. Once again he was beginning to feel out of sorts. Wasn't therapy supposed to make you feel better? And what was this guy implying?

"And how was your brother when you saw him?" Melton asked. "I take it he was well?"

Sam sighed. "The collapsed lung was real all right. But he seemed fine," he admitted grudgingly.

"So he's recovering well?" Melton asked.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Sam, do you have a problem with your brother being able to recover from an injury without your supervision?" the professor asked, resting Dean's letter on his desk.

"I think he went to some quack," Sam replied, "who almost screwed everything up."

"What did this quack almost screw up, Sam? What did he do?" Melton's piercing gaze bore into him.

"What?" Sam asked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You just said that the quack almost screwed everything up," Melton replied. "What did he do?"

Oh, him and his big frigging mouth! "Oh, no. No. I meant that I don't like doctors I don't know working on my brother like that." Especially like that!

"Like what?" Melton pressed.

"Experimental procedures." He should research that quack, find out how this character was able to coax Dean's body into healing itself so rapidly. Could this so-called doctor have the same knack as Sam, or was there something else to it? Was it really a new medical procedure? "You know, I should look into that procedure. Find out how they choose the patients they use it on. I think Bobby said Dean's institute paid for it, so they must have at least a name on file."

"Sam?" Melton waved at him from the desk. "Sam, while I applaud all of the effort you're willing to put into research concerning your brother, I would like to see a little effort towards yourself."

He frowned. This guy just sounded more clueless the longer he kept coming. "What do you mean?"

Melton held up the letter. "This. This is the direct result of the kind of relationship you have with your brother. What kind of relationship do you have, Sam? And what kind do you want?" The letter crumpled as he pointed and shook a finger at Sam. "This is what you need to be researching."

* * *

Dean couldn't focus on what Kate was saying as she slid another hot dish on to the dinner table. He focused on every movement with rapt attention even after there was a knock on the front door. Hoping they would all ignore the intrusion so he could start eating sooner, Dean twitched his shoulders to 'convince' everyone that there was no reason to leave the table.

"Ready?" he asked, rubbing his hands together as Kate sat at the head of the table.

There was another knock on the door, louder this time. Libby frowned and glanced in the direction of the noise. Damn, kind of forgot that she would be harder to put anything over now. Well, it was better this way. When Libby shot him a questioning look Dean shook his head and pretended he was innocent. A blast of full blown irritation shot through the room from the front of the house. Unfortunately, Dean recognized it.

"Hang on," he said regretfully, pushing away from the table.

He hurried to the door. The quicker Dean let him in, the quicker they could eat. Yanking open the front door, Dean revealed Dad standing on the stoop. "Come on, come on," he said in a rush, waving his father inside, "we're ready to eat."

"I don't want to interrupt," Dad began to protest, but Dean shoved him at the dining room.

"You already did," he snapped. "Now shut up and go sit down."

"Dad!" Adam hollered and Kate smiled in welcome.

Dean slid into his chair at the table next to Libby giving Kate a pleading look.

"Not until your father has a plate and some silverware. Really, Dean," Kate chided, pushing away from the table.

Dean groaned in disappointment.

"Better make it for two," Dad announced. Dean shot him a questioning look. "Jim is waiting outside."

"Oh, crap," he muttered, jumping up again. He rushed to the door, pulling it open to find Jim Murphy standing there with a fist in the air ready to knock. Dean grabbed the old family friend by the arm and pulled him inside. "Time to eat," he stated without greeting. "Come on, move it."

"But Dean, I just wanted to..." Jim blustered as Dean pushed him into the dining room as well.

"Sit," Dean ordered, pointing to the last empty chair while again taking his seat next to Libby. She reached out under the table to pat his knee, a flood of calm washing over him. How did she do that?

Adam set out silverware while Kate returned from the kitchen with plates and glasses. "It's always nice to meet another friend of Dean's."

Dad shot her a hard look. "Uh, he's with me." He waved his thumb between himself and Jim.

"Oh, I mean, I just meant..." she stuttered, freezing in the act of passing over the plates.

"It's quite all right," Jim assured her with a smile. "I consider myself a good friend of the family." He nodded to her and Adam. "I hope to extend the same services here."

Kate smiled again. "I like you."

"Great, can we eat now?" Dean demanded, despite Libby's hand holding on to his arm.

"Dean!" Libby hissed, tugging at him.

Kate shook her head and chuckled. "We'd better hurry before he starts in on the tablecloth."

* * *

It was difficult, but Libby managed to wait until after Dean had cleaned his plate once before asking the question burning in her mouth.

"Dean?" she asked as he reached for another helping of potatoes.

"Hmm?" He appeared distracted as he glopped more on his plate.

"Your family friend?" Libby prompted.

Dean glanced at the older kindly looking man eating sedately across the table from them. "Yeah?" He gave her a quizzical look. "What about him?" Dean reached for more meat.

"Are you going to introduce him?" she asked.

His hand hovered in midair, the large serving fork heavily laden. "Huh? Introduce Jim?" She saw the moment comprehension dawned. His head snapped the other way to look at their visitor. "Oh, Jim, man, I'm sorry."

Dean dropped the serving of meat on his plate as he stood. He returned the serving fork to the meat platter. "Everybody," he said, turning to include Adam, Kate and Libby, "this is Jim Murphy. He's been a close friend of the family since I was a little kid. Jim, that's my brother Adam."

Adam waved and Jim smiled and nodded. "It is good to meet you, Adam. I have heard good things." Adam beamed.

"Adam's mother, Kate Milligan." Dean motioned to the head of the table.

Kate smiled broadly and Libby saw where Adam's smile came from. "It's always good to meet a friend of the Winchesters."

"That isn't always the case," Jim replied with a chuckle. "Thank you for opening your home to me and welcoming me to your table."

Pink rose in Kate's cheeks as she sat up straighter, clearly pleased. "You're very welcome."

One warm strong hand landed on her back, just between her shoulders. "Stand up, Lib." She stood and Dean walked her around the table to stand in front of Jim. "Libby, Jim has been asking to meet you since New Year's. Jim, this is my girlfriend Libby. Libby, this is Jim Murphy."

Jim Murphy stood to politely shake her hand. "It's a pleasure, my dear."

"It's so nice to meet you," Libby replied. "Dean speaks very highly of you."

"And of you," Jim promised. "After dinner I would very much like to talk with you."

"Does that mean I get Dean?" Adam asked. When Libby glanced over, the young teen bounced in his seat. "Football."

Jim laughed and released her hand to speak to Adam. "I take it you've been enjoying having an older brother."

Adam's face lit up as Libby returned to her chair. "Oh, yeah! Dean calls me at least every Sunday and we talk about everything. When he comes over, we play football and he teaches me cool self-defense moves. When I'm fifteen he promised to help teach me to drive."

"All of which Dean is imminently qualified for," Jim replied with a smile.

Under the table Dean gave her knee a squeeze. Her boyfriend seemed to radiate happiness, like he was truly in his element here. She hoped he could feel half as comfortable at her parents' house. Hell, she hoped she could feel half as comfortable at her parents' house.

"Dean is a godsend," Kate declared. "I don't know what we'd do without him. And the seminar today? That was fantastic."

Dean's arm lifted to drape over her shoulders. "Libby makes a great demonstration."

She felt her cheeks heat from the praise. "It was all Dean," she protested. "He's the one who knows what to look out for."

"It's just common sense, like Kate said," Dean replied. "We put them all together for the seminar, that's all."

Mister Winchester scowled. "I doubt that's all. Dean, you're damn good at your job. Stop selling yourself short."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. Libby had the feeling he didn't want to answer his father.

"He is very good," Libby agreed with his father. Mister Winchester grunted and nodded at her, the sour expression still on his face. She wondered if he did not approve until Dean squeezed her knee again. When she looked at him, he winked at her and she knew everything was fine.

* * *

Dean paused at the front door to catch Libby's gaze, silently asking if it was all right to go play outside. She nodded. It was not the first time she had been around his father without him. Odds were Mister Winchester would not have made it through Dean's classes without her coaching. As it was, she was shocked there had not been a student revolt or walk-out. His teaching – er – _style _was not nearly as interactive as Dean's. Dean grinned and winked before heading outdoors.

"Play nice," he called out as he pulled the door closed.

"Was that for me?" Mister Winchester demanded.

"Probably," Libby admitted. "I don't think I've mentioned all the time we spent together while he was on the retrieval team."

He turned his intense gaze on her. "That might explain it."

"Or he's trying to irritate you," she added with a smile.

"That would explain the rest," Jim Murphy said with a chuckle. "Now, my dear, I would like to talk about you. I doubt I've ever seen Dean so taken with any one before."

She felt her face growing hot. "Really?"

"Really," Mister Winchester intoned. "Jim, this gal is amazing. She doesn't forget anything she's ever read, and you should see the collection of books on the supernatural she has in her library. Even Bobby was impressed."

"Bobby does like his books," Jim Murphy replied. "What made you collect those for your library?"

Libby shrugged. "I was being thorough."

One eyebrow lifted and Jim Murphy gave her a searching look. "Really? There was no other motivation behind it?"

Busted. She sighed with a glance at the front door. "Well, my parents have always believed in things like ghosts. I might have been doing research to convince myself that they were wrong."

"That worked out," Mister Winchester muttered. He may have meant to say it under his breath but everyone in the room turned to look at him. "You know, I think I'll go check on the boys." He hurried outside.

"That took longer than I thought it would," Jim Murphy said, turning to face her again. "I'm afraid John is, well..."

"It's fine," Libby assured him. "Mister Winchester and I have an agreement."

"Oh?" Jim motioned with one hand for her to continue.

"As long as I don't break his son's heart, I can't offend him," she informed him. "And as long as he doesn't alienate Dean, he can't offend me."

Jim Murphy smiled broadly. "Now that sounds like an excellent agreement. I wish I'd thought of something similar years ago, but I have a feeling I wouldn't have been able to pull it off."

"I like her too," Kate announced, walking into the den. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other pointing at Libby. "And if you do break his heart, you'll have me to deal with as well."

"Are threats common in this family?" Libby asked, shifting her gaze from Kate to Jim.

"Unfortunately." Then Jim smiled again. "However I would not trade any one of them for the world."

* * *

Dean handed a mug of hot tea over to one of the few people he had trusted implicitly since he was a kid. "Why are you and Dad really here, Jim?" he asked as Jim Murphy accepted the mug.

"I have unearthed some disturbing stories about a certain televangelist," Jim said. He sipped his tea. "Oh, this is very good."

"Yeah?" Dean sat opposite Jim, next to Dad on the sofa. "Like what?"

"Where's my tea?" Dad asked, although there was no prickly or sour irritation.

"You don't drink tea," Dean replied without looking over. He nudged Dad's knee with his, a warning. Dad just chuckled, revealing he had been messing with Dean.

Jim glanced between them before sipping his tea again. "Stryker was married, once upon a time. Lovely wife, by the sounds of it. After a year or two she became pregnant. They were both very excited. Now here it where it becomes disturbing."

Dean tensed and felt his father beside him do the same. He looked at Dad. "You haven't heard this either?"

Dad shook his head. "Jim insisted on waiting to tell both of us at the same time."

Cool. Dean nodded for Jim to continue.

"She was at the end of her term when she seemed to vanish off the face of the earth." Jim sighed heavily. "I've spoken to as many of their neighbors as I could find. One recalls Stryker himself driving her away from the house and that was the last anyone saw of her. He assumed they were headed to the hospital. Stryker never went back home after that day either. Next any of them saw of him was when he began his television ministry."

Dean scratched along his jaw, letting the new information sink in. He would have to discuss this with Libby later to see what she thought of it.

"I see why you think that's disturbing," Dad said in a gruff tone.

Jim nodded, setting his tea aside. "When I looked up the official county records, it lists that they both died in childbirth. Although unlikely, it does still happen in this day and age, however I found it most curious, especially since there is no record of a funeral, even with Stryker's church."

"It gets better," Dad muttered.

"That's when I decided to see if I could find any hospital staff who were on duty in the maternity ward that day," Jim continued. "I found one and she was...shall we say...rather hostile."

Dean exchanged a confused glance with his father.

"Hostile how?" Dad asked, his whole demeanor showing particular interest.

"You would think, working in a hospital, that the staff would grow a bit of a thick skin when it comes to death. I expected this. What I did not expect was for this nurse to be defensive to the point of being confrontational. She screamed at me that they died of natural causes before slamming her door in my face." Jim's Look Of Disapproval made an appearance. "The curious part about it was I only asked if she had been on duty that day, not whether or not she had actually assisted in the fatal delivery."

"I could take a crack at her," Dean offered. "I could tell you for sure if it was guilt."

Jim gave him a kind smile. "Dean, my boy, I'm afraid I've been around the block enough times to recognize the signs of extreme guilt. That coupled with the fact one of the other nurses on duty that day committed suicide less than a year later tells me if we can find a reason to have the body exhumed, I have a feeling the police can build a case for murder."

"Not without an eyewitness," Dad replied, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "The police don't just go around digging up graves. If there was a way we could go ahead and discredit him, I'll bet that nurse could be convinced to come forward."

Jim opened his mouth but a beaming smile erupted instead of words, his gaze pinned behind Dean. Dean turned to look over his shoulder to discover Libby entering the room.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but this is our last night here and I was hoping to have a few minutes to visit?"

Dad's gooey emotions ramped up, much to Dean's surprise. "Sure, Libby," he said with a smile, standing up. "Why don't you sit next to Dean? I'll take the other chair."

"Is this a private party?" Kate's voice asked from the hall. "Or can anyone join?" She and Adam peeked into the room.

Dean waved for them to come on in. Adam raced in to plop down in the floor next to Dean's legs. Dean gave the kid and affectionate shove. Dad let Kate have the other chair and looked around for another place to sit.

"You could bring in one of the chairs from the dining room," Kate suggested. Within moments they were pleasantly crowded into the Milligan's den.

"Jim, how old of a friend are you to the Winchesters?" Kate asked, the gleam in her eyes matching her anticipation.

"Let's see..." Jim smiled in a way that made Dean feel just a bit uneasy. He had a feeling some really embarrassing stories were about to be told. "Sammy was a little tyke, maybe two? So that would make Dean around six." He chuckled. "My, he was a protective six year old. But of course, that's a personality trait which has never changed."

Dean could feel Libby growing defensive. He slid an arm behind her back to reassure her. "It's all right," he whispered in her ear, realizing the most likely story for Jim to tell. "I have a feeling you'll like this one."

* * *

**Jim's Story**

It was right after Sam's very first hunt. I guess the ghost picked up something big, like a couch, to throw at them. Sam stood there like a deer caught in a car's headlights, too stunned and frightened to move.

[He wasn't that scared.]

[Quiet, Dean. I'm telling this story. And I'm just repeating what Sam told me at the time.]

Anyway, Sam was just standing there watching the couch sailing across the room at him when his amazing big brother leapt out from nowhere pushing Sam to the side. The couch crashed into Dean, knocking him across the room into the far wall. While Dean spent precious moments unconscious, John rushed across the room and swept Sam out of the room and then out of the house. He left Sam with a stern warning not to go back into the house before going back in for Dean.

[He never did listen to orders like Dean.]

[Not now, Dad. This is Jim's story.]

[ahem!]

Now Sam was stuck outside. Waiting. Sam has never been the most patient person in the world. He stood, he paced, he hopped on one foot, anything to keep himself occupied as he waited. There were noises from within the house. Sounds of breaking wood and glass shattering. He could tell from the sounds that his father was not merely in the house to rescue his big brother. As much as he wanted to go inside, he had been ordered to stay out. Even so, the desire to return and help his family was strong. Just as he ran out of patience and reached for the knob to open the front door, it swung violently open from the inside.

His father, supporting Dean with one arm, walked out with a grim expression. Dean held his free arm across his chest and grimaced with each step.

[Jim, you know Sam likes to exaggerate that part.]

[Dean, I believe this was my story?]

[Whatever. But I wasn't making faces.]

And _grimaced _with _each _step. By the time they reached the car Sam was nearly beside himself with worry, asking questions at a hundred miles an hour. Things like,"What happened?" "Did you get it?" "Why didn't you bring Dean out first?"

[Still hear that one in my sleep.]

John waited until Dean was tucked away safely in the passenger seat and they were on the road before answering any of them. Then he told Sam that yes, they got it, he didn't bring Dean out straight away because he needed help in there, and it looked like his brother had some broken ribs, how did Sam feel about spending a little time with Pastor Jim?

[Wait, you're a pastor?]

[Yes, Adam, I am. However, I can assure you, Dean has broken me in quite well. I can listen to stories about asking out girls with the same rapt attention as your last football game.]

John brought both boys to my house and then left for a few days.

[Dad, you left? Why did you leave?]

[Had to make sure we got it, Adam. Now let Jim finish.]

My intention with telling the first part of this story was to illustrate how protective Dean is as a big brother. Now, since Adam has apparently expressed misgivings about meeting Sam, I'd like to tell about what happened at my house after they arrived.

John was gone so Sam decided he was personally responsible for his brother's welfare. He laid out Dean's clothing every morning. He helped his brother put on his shoes, which is not an easy task with broken ribs. I dare say Dean took advantage, sending his little brother scurrying off to bring him snacks and meals throughout the day. I very nearly put a stop to it when I realized how much better Dean appeared after a few short days of it.

His color was better. He moved better. His face did not twist with pain at the slightest movement. You see, while Dean has a rather high pain tolerance now, he was still, unfortunately, developing that skill at the time. At the end of the month it was as if the ribs had never been broken.

* * *

"Oh, my," Jim whispered, his eyes going wide.

Dean and John looked at each other. "That did it."

"That did what?" Adam asked.

Dean flashed a wide smile. "Nothing to worry about. I'm supposed to see Sam over Spring Break. If it's all right with your mom, you could join us."

"Where?" Kate asked.

"Uh, at the school," Dad said uncertainly. "Actually, I need to talk to you about that."

Kate shrugged. "All right. Adam, I have a feeling the final decision will be up to you."

He glanced around at the expectant faces all watching him. "I don't know," he replied slowly. Jim's story showed him a side of Sam he had not expected. After hearing about how Sam had left for college, Adam would never have imagined the same person worrying about Dean so much and waiting on him hand and foot. "I'll think about it."

Dean gave him a quick nod and Adam had the impression that his new big brother approved.


	78. Chapter 78: Meet the Parents

Chapter 78: **Meet the Parents**

Dean pulled the Impala up in front of a large farm house, the kind that had been around at least a hundred years. The house had a fresh paint job, solid white. An older man and woman stood out front, the woman shivering in the cold and the man shading his eyes from the harsh winter sun.

Libby took a long, deep breath before opening her door. She cast Dean a guilty look, feelings of fear and general unease filling the car as she stepped out. Man, was she abused as a child? Why was she acting like this? He decided that maybe it was a good thing he agreed to come. If they were abusive parents, nothing would happen to Libby while he was around.

The older woman walked straight up to Libby with both arms outstretched. "Elizabeth!" she cried.

Libby smiled and hugged her. Nothing but good feelings there, from both of them. "Mother," she said as she pulled away, "I want you to meet Dean."

Dean rounded the car, deciding to try putting his best foot forward without 'forcing' anything. Besides, he had a feeling Libby would be able to tell.

"Dean?" Libby turned to him. "Come meet my mother, Missus Darling."

"Ma'am," he said politely as he shook her hand.

"Is there a last name?" Missus Darling asked. "Or are you like one of those celebrities with only one name?"

He smiled, already taking a liking to Libby's mother. "Dean Winchester."

"That's better. My daughter tells me you like her apple pie." It was more of a statement than a question and all of the emotions he was feeling from her parents were happy, light, and had a similar sweet flavor to Libby's. It looked like maybe the apple pie didn't fall too far from the tree. Then why was Libby so damned nervous?

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "It's awesome."

She held a finger up in the air. "That's only because you haven't tried mine yet. It's hot, fresh out of the oven. I'll go set the table while you meet the Colonel."

The Colonel? Dean's eyes flicked over the man he assumed to be Libby's father. He stood around six feet tall, his hair streaky gray (formerly blonde), shoulders broad and squared, his stance military. Oh, crap.

"Go on, Mother," the Colonel said in a stern tone without taking his eyes off of Dean, "we'll be along in a minute."

The fearfulness from Libby increased but this time it was coupled with anticipation, which Dean really did not understand. Hopefully he would remember to ask her later.

"Introductions," he ordered.

"Colonel, this is Dean Winchester," she replied instantly. "Dean, this is my father, Colonel Ray Darling."

"Colonel Darling?" Dean asked as the man took his hand in a firm handshake. "I'll bet there were some good jokes about that."

"No. Not one," the Colonel replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

Dean shook his head quickly. "No reason," he insisted, taking a step back to a more comfortable distance.

"Occupation?" the Colonel demanded.

"He's a teacher at the Institute," Libby answered promptly.

"Age?"

"Twenty-four," Dean answered, beating Libby to the punch.

The Colonel's gaze on him intensified but there were still no bad emotions. "Classes taught."

"Myths and Legends and self-defense," Dean replied.

"Siblings."

"One brother," he said instantly. "No, wait, two brothers."

One of the Colonel's eyebrows twitched. "You don't know how many brothers you have?"

Dean shrugged. "I grew up with one brother. The other one is a half-brother I just found out about a few months ago."

"Ah." The Colonel nodded. Dean expected more questions about that, but her father had other ideas. "Explain about this seminar."

It was starting to really feel cold. "Colonel, would you mind if we talked about this inside? Your daughter had the flu not too long ago and I'd rather she not get sick standing out here."

His attention snapped to his daughter. "Is this..." The Colonel's eyes slid back to Dean. "True?" he finished a moment later.

"Uh, yes, sir?" Libby replied, confusion masking her other emotions.

"First my hug," the Colonel demanded, holding open his arms. Libby stepped between them and leaned briefly against her father's chest for an awkward hug. Then he turned toward the house, one arm gripping Libby around the shoulders as he pulled her along with him. "And I don't care what Mother says, I want that explanation."

Dean wondered if he should ask about taking their bags out of the car but he chose to follow quietly to see how this would play out. Her father was a colonel? A real one? And she hadn't bothered to mention it? What the hell?

The interior of the house was warm and filled with the mouth watering aroma of fresh apple pie. Dean peeled off from following Libby and her father to follow the scent of wonderful food to the kitchen. He had a real weakness for apple pie lately. He stepped through the open doorway which did not have a door into a dark blue and bright white kitchen. Small tasteful yellow flowers dotted the center of the white tiles, but all he had eyes for were three fresh pies cooling on the counter. Missus Darling was placing a slice on a small dessert plate.

"Uh, I don't suppose I can have a larger plate?" he asked hopefully.

Missus Darling beamed. "I like a man with a hearty appetite." She turned around to pull out a dinner plate for him. She placed two generous slices on it. Dean's stomach growled at him. He motioned for another piece.

"I don't know if this would be considered hearty or downright gluttonous," she said with a chuckle. "Do you prefer coffee or milk with your pie?"

"Both," he answered truthfully.

"In that case we'll start with milk and I'll put a pot of coffee on. Now can I trust you to take the plates out to the table?" she asked and Dean felt waves of amusement coming from her.

"That depends. Does it taste as good as it smells?" he asked.

"Better," she promised.

"In that case, no, you can't trust me," he replied.

Her whole face lit up when she laughed, just like Libby. "Then you can carry the milk pitcher."

"Yes, ma'am." Dean picked up his large plate of pie with one hand and the full pitcher of milk in the other. "I'm ready."

Missus Darling smiled again. "You'd better go on in. I'm sure the Colonel wants to continue his interrogation."

Dean paused before heading through the door she indicated, which he guessed led to the dining room. "Would you mind if I asked you a question?"

"It depends on the question," she said, scooping ground coffee into her coffee maker. He did not feel any hostility or defensiveness, so Dean plunged in with his most dire question.

"Why do you call your husband The Colonel?" he asked. "Especially if he's retired?"

She turned to give him an incredulous look, as if no one had ever asked before. "Because he's earned it."

"Oh." Dean nodded as he realized that made sense. "Okay. Can I come back to help with anything?"

Missus Darling's head tilted slightly as she gave him a long look. "Why don't you send Elizabeth in to bring in the rest of the pie for me?"

"Good choice," he said with a grin. "I'm not sure this plate is going to make it to the table."

She chuckled at him and waved him out of her kitchen. Dean shouldered his way through the far door into a comfortable dining room. Libby and her father sat at the table, which had a blue and white checkered tablecloth and was set for four. Libby looked up when he walked in.

"I should have known," she said in a light tone, her hand pointing out the chair across the table from her. Dean would have preferred to sit next to her but this was her parents' house so he decided to play by their rules.

"Are you sure you have enough pie, son?" Colonel Darling asked as he sat.

Dean studied his plate for a moment before answering, "No, sir. That depends on if it's as good as your wife says it is." He looked at Libby again. "Your mother asked if you'd help bring in the rest of the pie."

"She must be afraid you'll eat it all," Libby said lightly. "Excuse me." She tossed Dean a wink before going into the kitchen.

Oh, the pie smelled so good! Dean wasn't sure he would be able to wait until everyone was here. He poured himself a glass of milk as a distraction.

"Colonel?" he asked, still holding up the large pitcher of milk. Colonel Darling pushed his empty glass closer for Dean to fill it.

"And this seminar?" the Colonel asked in a stern voice.

"We call it Common Sense Self-defense," Dean explained as milk gurgled into the glass. "Libby is our visual aide. She shows how just being aware of your surroundings can prevent crimes of opportunity, like being mugged." He set the pitcher back down. "We also demonstrate what a woman who hasn't been trained can do to protect herself if she's attacked. Just real basic stuff pretty much anyone can do."

Colonel Darling's eyes hardened and he was feeling suspicious, which was weird because Dean was telling the truth.

"And what part does my daughter play in this _seminar_?" he demanded.

Didn't he just cover that? "She's the visual aide. She stands up there with me and we act out different scenarios, first the wrong way and then a couple of alternatives."

"I thought you said some Libby person did that," Colonel Darling snapped, his suspicion stronger carrying a sharp bitter taste.

"Oh." Dean chuckled. "Now I understand. I, uh, call your daughter Libby." The suspicion eased but nothing replaced the emotion, it was as if the colonel's feelings were on lockdown. "Nickname?" Dean tried.

Total lockdown now. If it weren't for the fact he could see Colonel Darling, Dean would have sworn there was no one else in the room. Not even Dad or Xavier were this good at controlling their emotions. Fortunately, Libby and her mother chose that moment to bring the plates of pie into the dining room.

"Colonel?" Missus Darling said in the same light voice, although this time he felt an undercurrent of worry. "Is something amiss?"

"Elizabeth," Colonel Darling said in a stern tone and Dean watched as her whole body went rigid. "Do you have a nickname you neglected to mention?"

Her eyes darted between them as she chewed on her lower lip. Next she cleared her throat and slid a dessert plate in front of her father. "I guess some people might have started calling me Libby."

"Libby?" her mother asked with a chuckle. "Isn't that cute? You know, I think I tried a nickname like that when you were four." She rolled her eyes. "Oh, the fit she threw." Missus Darling shook her head at Dean and sat at the table. "Well, that was the last time we tried a nickname."

Dean grinned and picked up his fork. "You should've been more persistent." He glanced across the table where Libby sat with hot pink cheeks staring at her pie, no doubt wishing the ground would open up and devour her. "I think Libby likes it when you're persistent."

Libby's eyes darted up from her pie to meet his gaze and the smile he liked to see lit her face. "Yeah," she replied softly.

The Colonel cleared his throat. "So about this seminar, where was it? Minnesota? Isn't that rather far from your school?"

"That's where Dean's little brother Adam lives," Libby said. Then she nodded at his plate, telling him it was all right to eat now. Dean didn't need to be told twice, he dove into his pie.

"Adam's mother is a nurse and asked if he would make a special trip to her hospital," Libby explained as Dean enjoyed the delicious pie. He wondered what other kinds of pie Missus Darling could make. "Professor Xavier loved the idea. He's been talking about a tour of college campuses."

Dean rolled his eyes, his mouth too full to voice his opinion on that. Xavier wanted to fly them all over the country. _Fly_. Ha. That was not happening. Some mind-reader Xavier was not to pick up on this one. Apparently the guy only read the parts of your mind he wanted to.

"But I think Dean would prefer we remain closer to the school," Libby added for him. Dean nodded his agreement.

"Why is that?" Missus Darling asked.

Dean noticed she was watching him eat like he was in a contest. He swallowed to clear his mouth, still trying to go for that good first impression. "Too much work to do at the school," he told her. "I keep getting suckered into teaching more classes."

"Are they paying you more?" Colonel Darling asked.

"Nah." Dean shrugged and found himself on the receiving end of a glare from Libby. "What? What'd I do?"

"They're not paying you more?" Libby demanded as prickly irritation seeped through the good emotions in the room. "And why not?"

Oh, right. This hadn't exactly come up before. "Because the Xavier Institute is giving my brother Sam a huge scholarship. I'm just trying to work it off."

Instantly the irritation dissipated and those typical warm emotions of Libby's were stronger than ever. She beamed at him. "See Mother? What did I tell you?"

"How is the pie, Dean?" Missus Darling asked, smiling again.

"Fantastic," he replied, using his fork to scoop up another mouthful.

Just as he popped it into his mouth Libby's mother asked, "Which apple pie do you think is better? Mine or my daughter's?"

Oh, crap. Oh, holy crap. His gaze darted desperately between Libby and her mother and he felt horribly trapped. If he said Libby's would he insult Missus Darling? If he said Missus Darling's, would Libby be pissed at him? No matter how this went down, he couldn't win. Dean used the time he needed to chew thinking, which wasn't always his strong suit, granted.

He swallowed slowly, still analyzing the emotions ringing the table. Dean thought he might understand how Missus Darling ticked. If he was right, this would work beautifully and keep him in good standing with both. If not, well, he figured Libby wouldn't be too pissed off with him.

Dean washed down the pie with some milk, buying a few more precious seconds while the Darlings watched him curiously. He flashed his best smile at Libby's mother.

"Missus Darling, this is probably one of the very best pies I've ever eaten in my life. I think it's even better than my mother's." Libby's mom's eyes shone with pride and she sat up straight in her chair. He sighed heavily as he looked across the table. "Lib, I'm sorry, but I really think you should give your mother a copy of your recipe. Because this doesn't even come close to your apple pie."

Tears sprang to Libby's eyes as one hand clamped over his mouth. She struggled to hold in her emotions which churned through various types of joy. A sharp bark of laughter erupted from her mother. They all shifted to look at her.

"And he's smart too," Missus Darling said, chuckling. "Oh, I really had that one coming, didn't I, Colonel?"

Colonel Darling smiled for the first time since they had arrived. "That you did, Mother. Do I smell coffee?"

"I'll get it." Still chuckling, Missus Darling left the dining room.

"Quite a gamble you played there, son," the Colonel said in a soft voice.

Dean looked into Libby's eyes which shone with gratitude and adoration. Maybe he could make this monogamous relationship thing work after all. "Not really."

"We have two guest rooms upstairs," Colonel Darling announced as his wife returned with a steaming pot of coffee in one hand and four awkwardly stacked cups in her other hand. "Mother, would you like some help?"

Even though there was gray in his hair the Colonel moved swiftly, crossing the room with long strides to rescue the coffee pot just as Missus Darling stumbled. Her now free hand swooped down to catch the falling stack of coffee cups which rattled hard enough to break. The whole mess landed unceremoniously on its side on the table, the top cup spinning towards Dean. He picked it up and held it out to the Colonel as though this were the expected manner of delivering dishes to the table.

"The coffee smells great, Missus Darling," Dean announced as Colonel Darling filled his cup. He tossed a wink at Libby before sipping the hot steaming coffee. Not the best but definitely not the worst either. Now he knew where Libby's lack of coordination came from and honestly? He was glad to see it. It was just as endearing in her mother as in Libby.

"Oh!" her mother exclaimed as she passed out the coffee cups. "I almost forgot the vitamins. I'll be right back."

"Mother!" Libby snapped, harsh and foul tasting aggravation piercing the room and causing pinpricks across Dean's skin. Her mother seemed oblivious to it as she raced back into the kitchen.

Missus Darling returned with four small saucers. She placed one by each of them. "Go on," she encouraged, "it's good for you."

Libby's arms crossed defensively over her chest. "Too much of anything can hurt you, Mother."

Missus Darling let out a long suffering sigh as she sat. "It's just vitamins, Elizabeth. Humor your mother."

His girlfriend glared down at the small saucer with the exact same hatred she'd had for the medicine when she had the flu. Okay, now that made a little more sense.

"What about you, Dean?" Missus Darling asked, motioning to the saucer by his right hand.

Libby shrugged at him but she shoved her vitamins away.

"Uh, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll pass." He picked up his fork to finish off the last few bites of pie left on his plate. "The doc says I eat enough that I don't need to take vitamins anyway."

Libby chuckled at him. Her mother shook her head, disappointed. When neither of them were looking, Colonel Darling gave him a quick nod of approval. Damn. And that spot between his shoulders? It hadn't bothered him once. Now why couldn't his family act like this?


	79. Chapter 79: A Parental Haunt

Chapter 79: **A Parental Haunt**

Dean insisted on carrying in their bags while Libby waited indoors with her parents. At first she thought it was an excuse to keep her inside but then she realized he might be adding protections to his bag for their overnight stay.

"How long have you been dating?" her father asked in his command tone.

Libby resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. So far, this had been going much better than she expected. Then again, she had had no doubts that her parents would adore Dean. "Since Thanksgiving."

The Colonel nodded and cast a glance out the window beside the front door. "Does he always carry your bags or is this for show in front of the father?"

"He usually lets me carry my purse," she replied truthfully, "but that's about it."

"Good." Her father straightened up to look her in the eye. "Is he still in the service?"

"What? He's not..." Her father noticed, she shouldn't have been surprised. "Dean's never been in the military."

Colonel Darling's eyes narrowed on her and Libby could have sworn he was about to call her on it with a 'bullshit', when a knock sounded at the bottom of the door. Rescued again. Libby spun around. Dean stood on one foot, the other raised to kick against the door again. Smiling sheepishly, he used his raised foot to step inside the house.

"Where do I put these?" Dean asked.

"I'll take you upstairs," Mother offered with her big fake smile. "I think Elizabeth has a few things to discuss with her father."

Dean did not follow Mother up right away. He paused at the foot of the stairs to catch her eye, silently asking if it was all right. Libby nodded, the minor action causing a warm rush of gratitude throughout her body.

"Elizabeth?" her father asked when they were alone, his voice low but stern. "What were you saying about your boyfriend never serving?"

Oh, dear. She wished he hadn't phrased it like that. Libby turned to face her father but she had no way to explain, not without telling him everything. But what could she say without lying? And from that tone in his voice, her father would not tolerate anything but the truth.

"I didn't say he hadn't served," she replied slowly, "I said he has never been in the military."

There was a flicker of understanding across his face which she could not decipher. She expected him to press the point and demand a full explanation. Instead he asked, "How was the seminar?"

* * *

Libby stood in the chilly second guestroom ready for bed, her bathrobe wrapped warmly around her. She held a canister of salt in her hands with the intention of laying a line on the windowsill, another in front of the door, and a circle around her bed as instructed. Despite the warm robe she felt cold, a chill in her skin even a hot shower and the most vigorous rubbing wouldn't take away. There was no way she could sleep in here. Not alone.

Mind made up, her parents' objections be damned, Libby grabbed her suitcase and lugged it to the next door, the one at the stop of the stairs. Not bothering to knock because her parents might hear, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Dean still had the lights on and he was loading cartridges into a shotgun. He looked at her as if she had caught him sneaking off with the rest of Mother's pies.

"You too?" she whispered, setting her suitcase down by the door.

Dean shrugged casually, shoving his shotgun back into his duffel. "Better safe than dead."

Libby made a face, wrinkling her nose at him. "Did you have to phrase it like that?"

He pointed to the wall separating their rooms over his shoulder. "Baby, you're going to have to sleep in there. Want me to do your salt lines for you?"

She closed the door before walking right up to him and standing in his personal space. "I don't need any salt lines, I'm staying in here. With you."

Dean gave her a pleading look. "Libby, your father is a colonel. He'll shoot me."

"He won't find out," she insisted, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. Libby tried for a pathetic pout. "Please?"

She watched as he caved almost instantly. "Libby..." Dean sighed, his arms lifting around her back. "Baby, I'm trying real hard for a good first impression. I don't think being shot by your father is the best way to go about it."

She giggled. "He won't shoot you," she assured her boyfriend, tightening her hold. "He might shoot _at _you, but he won't shoot you."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered sarcastically. "I feel much better."

He leaned into her embrace, hugging her back. The chill in her skin seemed to dissolve at his touch. "Please?" she whispered, wondering what the hell she would do if he really meant No.

He nodded against her cheek and she let out the breath she had been holding. "We'll be quiet," she promised.

Dean snorted, pulling back to look at her with a wicked smirk. "You don't know how."

"Bet I do," she teased as one of his hands slipped under her pajama shirt, warmth pressing against her chilled back, chasing away the cold in her skin.

"Really trying to get me shot," he accused, but he was smiling when he said it.

"Shot at," Libby reminded him. "Not shot."

* * *

A tapping noise, just at the edge of consciousness, dragged Dean from a fitful sleep. He lay awake listening until he became convinced the noise was real, not leftover from his bizarre dreams. In the dark he fumbled for his clothes, pulling on his sweatpants and the shirt he had planned to wear to bed. He hadn't anticipated Libby having 'other' plans, especially in her parents' house. For a mousy-looking librarian she had a real wild streak.

Grinning to himself, Dean headed out of his guestroom and down the stairs. The tapping noise came from the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs he paused, wondering if he should go back up for the rocksalt shotgun. Well, at worst, he could always yell for Libby to throw it down to him. He hoped. Pretty much committed to checking this out unarmed, Dean walked into the kitchen.

One of the cabinet doors hung open, the door blowing gently back and forth. Dean approached slowly, using his hands to feel for drafts and air currents in the old house. The cabinet banged closed twice more during his cautious approach. There did not appear to be any drafts strong enough to account for it. He was just wondering if he should grab his EMF reader from the trunk when he heard a footfall behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the Colonel watching him.

"Does this happen often?" Dean asked, figuring at worst maybe he could find out a little information.

Colonel Darling put a finger to his lips and stared at the kitchen window. Dean heard the clucking of chickens out in the coop. For one irrational moment he thought the chickens were narking on him and Libby.

"God-damn-it!" the Colonel swore and spun around for the den, rough irritation and aggravation spiking his wake. "Come on!" He marched straight up to his gun cabinet. Dean literally saw his life flash before his eyes right up to the moment when Colonel Darling passed him a rifle. "Check it!"

On automatic, Dean popped it open for a visual before checking the action on his rifle. What in the world had Libby's father so worked up? Most people didn't go after ghosts with rifles. A duel with rifles? Nah, this man wasn't the type. Besides, the Colonel's anger wasn't directed at him, it was outside. Colonel Darling kept glancing toward the kitchen and each time his aggravation grew. Whatever was wrong, it was outdoors. He was glad he chose to wear the sweatpants.

* * *

_- Five Minutes Earlier -_

Unable to sleep, Ray Darling thought about the young man who had accompanied his daughter here. On the surface he appeared simple enough, like the school teacher Elizabeth had claimed he was. From the first, Ray had suspected there was more to this one. There was just something about him, the kind of quality he had made a career of looking for in his soldiers.

Now that last boyfriend... What was his name? Joseph, uh, something. Joseph had been some corporate schmuck, through and through. Dean talked smooth and easy as if he didn't have a care in the world. But the way he moved? Every movement was sure and graceful like he knew his body's exact limits, strength and ability from experience. His eyes constantly scanned the immediate area when they were outdoors. Inside he appeared to relax though Ray suspected it was more of an act. The only time Ray figured Dean was really comfortable was when Elizabeth was around. No one could fake that. He doubted either of them realized how disgusting they were together. His wife loved it.

Dean was no schoolteacher. Well, maybe he was now, but not always. Special Ops. Yeah, he fit the profile. Special Forces, Special Ops, Black Ops, SEALS, pretty much anything involving operations behind enemy lines would fit Dean perfectly. He wondered if it had been just one or if Dean had belonged to several groups during his time in the service.

The day had passed pleasantly enough. Now that everyone had gone to bed, and Ray did not believe for a second those two would sleep in separate rooms despite his wife's intentions, he lay awake wondering about that young man. He had retired recently so he still had plenty of military contacts, perhaps he should call one and have the name Dean Winchester run through the system, both official and unofficial operations. It would be nice to know exactly who was dating his daughter, especially with that flaky answer she gave him about Dean 'serving' without being in the military. He wondered if he could manage to have Dean's name compared with CIA or NSA operatives. That could explain it too.

The first thumping noise from the kitchen he ignored. Giles McGraw had owned and operated this farm for seventy years. When he died, the stubborn old fart had refused to leave. He made his presence known from time to time by slamming cabinet doors or rearranging things out in the barn. Lately the former owner had been quiet so Ray figured maybe his farming skills had improved. Or Giles had given up on him. There were two more thumps in a row. Either Giles was upset about the new houseguests or there was something wrong on the farm.

Ray slipped stealthily out of bed so as not to disturb his wife. He walked swiftly to the kitchen, the source of the thumps. Finding Dean already there inspecting the open cabinet was unexpected.

"Does this happen often?" Dean asked, motioning to the cabinet door.

Ray placed a finger against his lips, signaling for silence. Dean watched him curiously as he listened to the night sounds. The chickens squawked and bawked out back. Ray scowled.

"God-damn-it. Come on." He headed for the den and his gun cabinet. The key was on top of a framed picture hanging on the wall of a duck taking flight off a still pond. Ray slid the key from the top left corner of the frame to unlock the cabinet. He removed one rifle, turned and tossed it to Dean. Dean caught it deftly with both hands, the proper way.

"Check it," he ordered, automatically using his 'colonel' voice. Ray removed a second rifle for himself. He popped it open for a visual inspection before checking that the action worked smoothly. "How's yours?" he demanded when he was satisfied with his.

"Fine," Dean replied, the usual humor gone from his features replaced by a hardness that was all business.

Ray nodded in response as he grabbed a handful of long slender copper colored bullets. He held them out to Dean. "Load up."

Dean took the ammo from him, allowing Ray to grab more for himself.

"Uh, what are we after?" Dean asked as Ray loaded his rifle.

Ray looked the young man in the eye, not wanting this to seem as minor as it was. "Damn coyotes are after my chickens. Let's go," he barked.

Dean's body stiffened, coming to attention at his command. Thought so, Ray told himself. He led the way. When they were within a hundred yards of the chicken coop, he used hand signals to tell Dean to go around the other way. Dean nodded before skulking off into the dark. Good man, Ray thought. He went around his way. With help, maybe he'd finally be able to kill a couple of these hungry bastards. Damn things were living off his chickens.

Ray kept his movements slow and cautious as he rounded the coop. Two dark forms, the size of large dogs, stood back like they were watching. There was probably one inside his chicken coop right now. Ray grit his teeth. He lifted his rifle to cover the spot the other two were watching. In the dark he couldn't make out if there was a hole or not, he had only his instincts to trust.

A shot rang out and one of the watching coyotes yelped. It was followed quickly by a second shot and the second coyote jumped about a foot in the air. The two watchers tore off into the dark. Damn it! Now why didn't that boy kill 'em? He obviously could have.

His eyes better adjusted to the dark, Ray could make out a dog-like figure wriggling out from under the chicken wire. He scowled as he lifted his rifle. No way could he miss at this distance. The dark figure stood on four legs and looked around. Whiteness gleamed from the dark cavern of its mouth as its head turned from side to side. Bastard had another chicken! Ray pulled off a shot at point blank range. The coyote dropped like a sack of grain.

He walked cautiously over to poke at it with the butt of his rifle. Dead. About damn time, too.

"Dean!" he called out. The young man appeared silently out of the night. "You're in better shape than I am. Grab it by the scruff of its neck. I don't want it out where the women might see it. You know how they can be about this kind of thing."

Dean's response was to bend over and pick up the coyote carcass. They were both barefoot and it was damned cold out so heading too far from the house was out of the question. However in the garage he had a few large empty boxes left over from moving. They could put the carcass in one of those until he had time to take it out and bury it tomorrow.

He pulled one box out of the garage through the side access door. Dean dumped the carcass inside.

"You missed," he said, pulling the top box flaps up to cover the contents from view.

Dean shrugged. "Guess I need some target practice."

"I doubt it," Ray replied. On this side of the house the moonlight allowed him to view the young man's face perfectly. "You hit everything you aimed at. So why didn't you kill them?"

Dean looked perplexed and was no doubt trying to come up with an answer Ray would like. He had seen the exact same expression on too many soldiers he had dressed down not to recognize it.

"I'm not upset," he added quickly. "I'd just like to know."

Dean sighed and shrugged. "I don't really like shooting at live things. I understand you hate the coyotes because they're eating your livestock, but they're not evil. They're just trying to live their lives, like the rest of us."

Ray chuckled and shook his head. He motioned that they should head back for the house. "Elizabeth didn't say you were a philosopher. I think I'm starting to see why you two are together."

"You are?" He appeared startled. "Why?"

"You're a thinker," Ray replied, watching a nasty expression appear on the boy's face. "And don't look at me like that, it's a compliment." He gave Dean's shoulder an affectionate slap as he held the door open for the young man to walk in the house. Ray paused by the foot of the stairs to listen quietly, one hand held up to stop Dean. "Coast is clear," he whispered, motioning for Dean to hand over the second rifle. "Mother is asleep. I'll take care of these, you go make sure your girl didn't miss you too much."

Dean's eyes went wide and his mouth opened soundlessly, a protest no doubt threatening.

"But if Mother figures it out, you're on your own, son," Ray warned. He turned away to put his rifles up, wondering why the sounds of shots hadn't woken his wife. Maybe her hearing was starting to go bad.

* * *

Back in the guestroom, Dean woke Libby by shaking her shoulder. She sat up, hair spilling over her shoulders as she blinked slowly at him in the moonlight streaming through the uncovered window. "Huh?"

"We have to stay another night," he whispered.

She pushed a hand through her tousled hair, moving it away from her face. "What? Sweetie, did you have a bad dream?"

"No," he snapped, trying to keep his voice down. "I think there's a ghost here."

Libby shivered and ran her hands over her bare arms. Oh, yeah. She was still naked, also not a great idea with her father running around downstairs with loaded rifles. Dean found her pajamas and tossed them to her. She dressed without speaking, then she patted the bed next to her. He crawled in beside her. Should he tell her that her father knows? God, he hoped the Colonel didn't hear them earlier. Then again, if her father had heard, by all rights he would've been shot by now. Okay, probably not.

"Want to sneak out and stay in a motel tonight?" he asked worriedly.

She leaned against his chest and Dean wrapped an arm around her. "Not without my parents. Do you think we can talk them into staying in town tomorrow night?"

"Doubt it," he said truthfully. She leaned in harder and he allowed them to drop to the bed together. They had the salt ring around their bed and the door and windows were lined. The shotgun waited only a foot away and his thirty-eight was under the pillow. They should be good until he could do some research. Dean planted a kiss to her neck before settling in for a little more sleep.

* * *

Ray woke to the sounds of more cabinet doors slamming. He sighed, slipping out of bed. Either the coyotes were back or that old bastard Giles really didn't like their houseguests. The noises grew louder as he approached the kitchen. At the entrance Ray stopped cold. All of the cabinets were open, some of the doors swinging back and forth like they were caught in a high wind.

A large man appeared in front of him, barrel-chested with a ghostly pale face. His eyes were dark and wild. An ax was slung over one shoulder and while Ray could see right through it, it still seemed pretty damned solid. The large man scowled before he took a swing at Ray, the ax splitting one of the kitchen chairs.

He needed some help here, preferably a good soldier who wouldn't question the fact he had seen a ghost. How convenient, Ray thought as he bolted for the stairs, that he had another soldier in the house. When his foot hit the top stair he slowed, not wanting to startle their houseguest too badly. Startled soldiers could be quite dangerous. Ray skulked to Dean's room marveling over how quiet it was up here compared with downstairs. He had expected Dean to come down to investigate the banging cabinets like last time. It was almost like the ghost of the large man was afraid of waking them, but that was crazy. Why would it be afraid? It was a ghost. It wasn't like Dean and Elizabeth could hurt it.

He opened the door of the room assigned to Dean, wondering if the young man would be here. A thin shaft of moonlight cut through the quiet bedroom from the far window, across the center of the bed revealing a human-sized lump in the bedding. Ray walked through the thin light to reach the bed. His intention had been to wake Dean gently by prodding his leg or foot. When he reached out one hand there was a rustling sound followed immediately by a distinctive metallic click.

Ray knew the sound of that click intimately. It was the sound of a safety being removed. He carefully shifted his focus from Dean's leg, without moving a single muscle in his body except his eyes, to the source of the click. Moonlight reflected off the silver barrel of a handgun pointed at his temple. Looking beyond the barrel, which required some effort, Ray saw Dean glaring steadily at him, his upper body shifted to shield Elizabeth from potential danger. Ray remained motionless hoping Dean would wake enough to recognize him soon, preferably before pulling the trigger.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Elizabeth's voice was the first sound to penetrate this endless moment. "Oh, crap." One slender, elegant hand reached out to rest on Dean's arm. "Sweetie, please don't shoot my father."

Dean blinked a couple of times, like he hadn't quite been awake. "Your father?" His hand lowered slowly. Then his eyes rolled and he pointed the handgun away, towards the floor. Ray heard the safety click back on, then he let out the breath he had been holding.

"Crap," Dean muttered dejectedly.

"Colonel, what are you doing?" his daughter demanded. She didn't even bother to sound like she felt guilty about sleeping in the same room, the same bed, with a man. In her parents house. They must have neglected to teach an important life lesson in her upbringing.

"I need Dean," he replied, forcing his voice to remain steady. "There's something downstairs."

"Something?" Dean set his handgun aside on the nightstand. "Something like a coyote?"

"Something like a ghost," he said authoritatively, hoping it would be convincing enough.

"Grab some clothes, baby," Dean said with a pat on her rump. "I knew we should've snuck off to a motel."

"Sneaked," Elizabeth corrected him as she rolled out of bed. They both wore night clothes which covered their bodies, thank God. He was still hoping not to have to explain any of this to his wife.

Dean hefted his duffel bag on to the bed. Without a word, or even an embarrassed expression, he slid off his sweat pants to replace them with jeans. Clearly he was used to living in close quarters. There were a few large bruises down his legs, but with the way the boy moved you'd never know it. Every new nugget of information Ray learned about this young man added to an arsenal of evidence that Dean had served. Recently. Perhaps last week. After wadding up the sweat pants and shoving them inside the duffel, military issue, he reached deeper into the bag. When he withdrew it this time he clutched a sawed-off shotgun. From a side pocket in the duffel he removed a handful of shells which he dropped on the bed.

"Rock salt," he explained in a normal tone, as if people did this type of thing every day. "My spare is in the trunk, so you'll have to let me take the lead. Libby, you stay between me and your father."

She nodded, a sweatshirt pulled on over her short-sleeved nightshirt. Elizabeth put on sneakers while Dean thrust his bare feet into his heavy boots without bothering to pull on socks or lace them. The handgun went into his back waistband before he pulled on his well worn brown leather jacket.

"I think our best bet is to get you and your wife out of here," he continued, stuffing the extra shells into his jacket pockets. "We can stay at a motel in town for the night. In the morning Libby and I will hit the local library to see if we can figure out who your ghost is and where he's buried. If we can figure that out, I can take care of it tomorrow night and you won't have any more problems."

"You sound pretty confident," Ray observed. "What makes you so sure you can just take care of it?"

"It's my job," he replied. Dean checked his shotgun, which was already loaded. After pumping it a couple of times, one-handed, he looked at them. Funny thing was, Ray was positive this young man was not showing off. "Ready?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Let's hurry. I'm worried about Mother."

Ray took up the rear, glancing around constantly to be certain nothing 'appeared' behind them. Elizabeth used one hand to clutch the back of Dean's jacket. Dean moved sure and smooth down the stairs. As they approached the first floor the noises from the kitchen ceased. When it became silent, Dean stopped. His head turned from side to side and his shoulders tensed. Ray wondered what he was waiting for, it appeared to be a good time to make a break for the master bedroom.

The temperature dropped, within seconds it was cold enough for Ray to see his breath. Wind blew through the first floor even though all the doors to the outside were locked, the kitchen cabinet doors banging and swinging wildly.

"Ray!" his wife shouted from the opposite end of the house. Ray moved to run to her but Dean put out an arm to stop him. The young man turned to make eye contact and shook his head. Damn it! Was he really listening to this? Yes, he realized as he took a step back, he was. Ray was not positive what it was about Dean that caused him to trust this young man, but he did. It might be Elizabeth's unwavering commitment and adoration. Or it was Dean's clear confidence? It might be the way his daughter's boyfriend had pulled that gun on him. Ray wasn't too anxious to cross this particular young man without good reason. There weren't too many people who could get the drop on him like that, even old and retired. Then again, it could be simply the all too familiar intensity in this soldier's eyes, that Dean seemed to understand what needed to be done and appeared capable of doing it.

The same large transparent man from before appeared in the open area at the foot of the stairs. Dean blasted it with the rocksalt and it dissipated into nothing.

"Go!" Dean shouted, pumping the shotgun again. He fired it as another apparition appeared between them and the front door. Two more shells were fed into the shotgun as Dean covered them. Ray raced on his daughter's heels to his bedroom. His wife stood beside the bed, her robe pulled on hastily.

"Come on, Mother," he said, grabbing Marion by the arm and hauling her out of there.

"Mother, are you all right?" Elizabeth demanded from his wife's other side.

"Did I hear shots?" she asked warily. "Is someone breaking in?"

"It's a ghost," Elizabeth replied. "We need to leave."

"I thought you didn't believe in such things?" his wife asked, her voice quivering too much to sound sarcastic.

"Hang on," Dean's voice interrupted the argument threatening between mother and daughter. Ray held them both back, waiting on Dean's signal. The young man blew out a cloudy breath, proving that the temperature had dropped again. He held the shotgun tightly with both hands. Ray glanced at his daughter, she appeared to be holding her breath. Dean spun on his heel, the shotgun coming up and pointing at a spot near the front door. The air wavered, the outline of a large man appearing. Dean took a step closer. When the door behind the ghost became difficult to see, Dean blasted it with rock salt, blowing the apparition into a million shards which spun and fluttered through the air like confetti before disappearing.

"Go, go, go!" he shouted, spinning around to cover their flank.

Ray shoved the girls at the door, racing closely behind them. His heart pounded in his chest and his breath came in short blasts. They didn't stop until they reached the large black car parked next to the house. Elizabeth held open the back door and waved them inside as another shot rang out from inside the house. Ray collapsed next to his wife on the seat, the idea of taking his own vehicle never occurring to him. Elizabeth bounded into the front passenger seat. When she peered worriedly out the front window Dean came racing into view. He jumped into the driver's seat and slammed the ignition key in. The Impala roared to life, anxious to be of service to its owner.

Dean thrust it into drive and stepped down hard on the accelerator. Before they could leave the property the ghostly image of the large farmer appeared in the road in front of them. Instead of swerving Dean floored it, driving right through. Marion gasped, covering her face with both hands. Ray had to appreciate the tactic even if it scared his poor wife half to death. Ghosts had no substance to them, so why not drive right through? It seemed to dissipate as the car plowed through it.

Ray turned to look out the back windshield. Part of the night was lighter in the center of the road, in the area the ghost had been. It faded from sight although Ray had no idea if it was because the ghost left or they had traveled too far to see it.

Near town was a small roadside motel. Dean pulled in, parking near the front office. "I'll go see about a couple of rooms," he said. "You can wait in the car."

"I'm coming," Ray announced.

Dean gave him a strange look. "No offense Colonel, but you're not exactly dressed for it."

Ray glanced down at his pajamas. He had not bothered to grab a coat either, which also meant he did not have his wallet to help pay for their accommodations. "One room," he insisted. "And I will reimburse you tomorrow."

"One room?" his wife asked in a soft voice.

"Quiet, Mother," he hushed her gently. "I have my reasons."

Dean exchanged a long look with Elizabeth. She nodded and shrugged. Dean took a deep breath before replying, "Yes, sir. One room. I'll see if they have one with three beds." He stepped out of the car with another lingering gaze at Elizabeth. She gave him a sweet smile which he returned.

"Do you remember those days, Mother?" he asked his wife, one arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer as she shivered.

"What days?" she asked as Elizabeth turned around to face them.

"Young love," he stated, hoping to lighten his wife's mood with a positive subject. "Even after running from a ghost, they can look at each other like that." Elizabeth made a sour face at him.

"Ghost?" Marion stirred uncertainly in his arms. "Oh, Ray, are you sure?"

"As sure as I'm sitting here." He held her tightly. "Speaking of which, there's a reason I asked for one room."

"It's not to save money, is it?" she asked with a sigh.

"No, it's because I think he can keep you, all of us, safe," Ray told her, "and you're not going to have a fit if Elizabeth chooses to share a bed with her boyfriend tonight. She's a big girl now." He couldn't believe he just said that.

Mother sighed again, her head resting against his chest. "I know. I miss my baby girl."

"Mo-ther," Elizabeth whined from the front seat. "Colonel, are you serious about those sleeping arrangements?"

"I know I'm not sleeping next to him," he stated defiantly.

His wife gave him a sly look. "Don't ask, don't tell. And let's face it, he is a cutie. Can't say that I'd blame you."

With a loud huff, Elizabeth's forehead slammed against the backrest of the front seat. Marion leaned forward, one hand going out to grab Elizabeth's hand clutching the top of the seat. "Elizabeth, does he really know what he's doing?" Their daughter lifted her head. "Honestly? He's not crazy?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I kind of wish he were, Mother. He teaches myths and legends at the school, the reality behind the stories. It's to prepare the kids for what's really out there in the dark."

Marion frowned. "But how can he know these things?"

Elizabeth looked them both in the eye before she answered. "Because he hunts them. Dean keeps people like us safe. He's very good at his job."

"I'll bet," Ray whispered, replaying all of the evidence he had been stockpiling in his mind. "I'll bet he is."


	80. Chapter 80: Hunting with the Colonel

Chapter 80: **Hunting with The Colonel**

Dean returned to the car with a maxed out credit card and the card keys for one room in his pocket. He and Libby really needed to wrap this thing up tomorrow or else he would have to call Xavier and ask for money. Dean would rather eat garbage than do that, but this was for Libby. Well, maybe he could hustle enough for a second night? If he had a reasonable amount of cash on him, maybe. Dean could proudly lay claim to fifteen dollars in cash at this moment. Frigging great. Fifteen bucks to feed four people tomorrow, including himself. Then again, maybe he should call Xavier tonight.

The motel didn't have a room with three beds available, so he would be camping out on the floor. Freaking perfect. At least they promised to have housekeeping bring extra blankets and pillows shortly.

"Our room is around the back," Dean announced, putting his car into drive. "I'll see how close I can park to it."

The mood in the car was odd. When he went inside to rent a room for the night they had all been anxious, frightened, and uncertain. Now Libby's family felt calm. Not exactly relaxed, but they were calm enough that Dean allowed himself to relax a little. He pulled the car around back. All the good spots close to the room were taken, forcing Dean to park a few rows out. However he did manage to score a spot where he should be able to see the car from their room.

"Room two-fourteen," he told Libby, handing over the key card.

Her brow furrowed and she wanted to ask him a question, but she nodded and gave him a peck on the cheek before stepping out of the car. Dean walked around to the trunk. He could feel her father's eyes on him as he retrieved his emergency bag with a full set of clothes in it. The Colonel was a little taller than he was, but her father might be able to wear his clothes anyway. He grabbed his spare boots too.

"Need some help, son?" the Colonel asked.

Dean shrugged and held out the boots. "I thought you could use these tomorrow, until we can get your clothes from the house."

"Thank you," he said in a quiet voice. Despite the lack of volume there was plenty of authority and confidence. It was impressive, to be honest. His father typically used volume to convey authority. It was good to see that it could be done in other ways.

Dean met the man's eyes. "Want a weapon?" he asked honestly, assuming the answer to that would be 'yes'.

"Only if you have something else that can shoot ghosts," Colonel Darling replied.

Dean set his emergency bag back in the truck. He popped open the weapons locker, using another sawed off shotgun to hold it open. After a moment of rummaging, he found his nine mil. Dean checked that the clip was filled half with silver and half with iron bullets, alternating by twos. He handed it over. There was merely a sense of calm acceptance from the Colonel, no shock, surprise or disgust over the weapons locker.

"This won't do squat for ghosts," Dean explained, "but the iron and silver bullets are good for pretty much everything else. They're loaded by twos, so fire at least three or four rounds into whatever you're shooting before you decide it's not working."

Next he scooped up a mess of rocksalt cartridges. These he dumped inside his emergency bag. Dean lowered the lid on his weapons locker to add the spare shotgun to his duffel. He pulled it out of the trunk.

"The shotguns use rocksalt which is for ghosts, but mine is still under the front seat."

"I'll stand watch," the Colonel offered.

Confident in not being spotted, Dean took his best shotgun out from under the front seat of the Impala to stuff inside his bag. Now it was too full to close so he used one of the shirts inside to wrap around the protruding shotgun barrels. He locked the car before he and the Colonel headed to join the 'girls' in the motel room.

They had barely been in the room a minute when there was a knock on the door. Dean answered it with the Colonel standing behind the door covering him with the spare shotgun. Overkill, granted, but Dean couldn't say he blamed the man. It was housekeeping with the extra blankets and pillows he had requested. The woman also had a plastic bag full of toiletries, compliments of the management. Dean thanked her as he shut the door.

"Compliments of the management?" Colonel Darling asked, lowering his shotgun. "What did you tell them when you checked us in?"

Dean handed over the plastic bag. "That the carbon monoxide detector in your house went off in the middle of the night and we high-tailed it out of there with only the clothes on our backs." He shrugged. "I figured it would explain things tomorrow when everyone is still wearing pajamas."

He settled on to his knees in the floor at the foot of Libby's bed to spread out the blankets and pillows. It wouldn't be the first time he had slept on the ground. At least here he wouldn't have to worry about bugs and snakes creeping in to share his warmth. He hoped.

"Uh, Dean?" Libby asked, perched on the foot of her bed. "What are you doing?"

"They didn't have a room with three beds available," he explained. "So I'm sleeping on the floor."

"You don't have to," Libby replied.

She felt sincere but he could not believe she was serious. In the same room with her parents? Oh, hell no!

He glanced over to find her parents watching him. There were no feelings of disapproval but a high level of curiosity and anticipation.

"Yeah, I do," he stated, his gaze returning to her. "Night."

She sighed, her disappointment evident, but seriously? No freaking way! That was just wrong. Oh so wrong!

"I like him more all the time," Mrs Darling said as the lights were turned off.

Dean slipped the handgun from his back waistband under his pillow. He settled in, not expecting to fall asleep right away. The moment he became still, exhaustion settled into his muscles and weighed down his eyelids. Dean had been toying with the idea of releasing a little energy to help her parents relax but right now he doubted he could sit back up if he had to. Sleep swept over him and Dean gave in, too tired to fight it.

* * *

Fingers stroked the side of his face. Dean rolled in to the touch, a smile playing on his lips. "Libby," he murmured.

"Waffles, Dean," her sweet voice told him. "With syrup."

He pried his tired eyes open. Libby sat next to him on the floor, sweet and warm emotions pouring from her and a heavenly scent coming from nearby. He shoved himself off the floor. "Coffee?"

"Of course." She bounded to her feet. "I can't believe you didn't wake up when Mother and the Colonel went for breakfast. They had to walk right over you."

Dean frowned and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Me either. Usually I'm a pretty light sleeper."

Libby giggled, amusement rolling out from her. "Oh, right. I've seen you sleep hard enough I doubt a tornado could have woken you."

"Really?" He headed for the table where a plate piled high with fresh waffles waited for him.

"Absolutely." She sat next to him at the table, a modest plate with one waffle and some fruit in front of her. "Remember your friend's theory about the mutant gene being basically an evolutionary response to protect humans from the supernatural?"

Dean nodded and shrugged, his mouth full. Jim never said it was evolutionary; Dean was positive Pastor Jim considered it a gift from God, but whatever Libby wanted to make of it was fine with him.

"No ghosts or creatures here," she continued, "so it was safe for you to sleep."

Dean swallowed what was in his mouth. "Do you think that's why I had such a hard time falling asleep at your parents' house? Because it has a ghost?"

She nodded, popping a chunk of fruit in her mouth. "Did you really feel guilty about me sneaking into your room?"

He chuckled and shook his head at her.

"See? I knew it," Libby said, cutting into her waffle. "I am sorry if it made you uncomfortable, but I couldn't sleep. It felt wrong."

Dean thought about that. He had felt strange from the moment they arrived, a constant chill on the back of his neck and down his arms, as well as a restless feeling that would not let him relax. The only way he had been able to lull himself to sleep had been to snuggle up with Libby. "Yeah," he agreed, stabbing at a fresh cutting of waffle, "same here. I guess I'm still getting used to this early warning system."

"Dean?"

He felt she wanted to talk seriously. He shifted his gaze from the food to her.

"Do you think all mutants are like us? With the early warning system?" Libby asked. She shifted into her research mode. Dean imagined she had a whole list of symptoms already cataloged in that orderly, structured head of hers. "That would certainly prove your friend's theory."

He chewed through his mouthful of waffle before answering. "We can talk to Hank about it. The hard part would be testing it without putting anyone in real danger. And that was Jim's theory, by the way."

"I had wondered, it sounded like him. Now, you are going to let me help with the ghost research today, right?" Libby demanded.

He grinned at her. "Oh, better believe it, Baby. I'm counting on it."

* * *

It had been almost a week since Dean had hung up on him the last time, two days since his brother's letter with a back-handed apology arrived, and Sam had not called or started a letter. The guilt began to wear heavier and Jess would not let up. Of course, she had been on his case even before Dean's letter arrived. She had left his apartment an hour ago after setting out some clean paper and a pen for him along with an admonishment to get his ass in gear. Or else.

This was ridiculous, Sam decided, sweeping the paper aside in favor of his cell phone. He didn't understand why Dean had become so fond of writing letters. Sam chose his brother's number and pressed the button to make the call before he could think about it too much. It rang a few times before his brother picked up.

"Sam? Dude, what's wrong?" Dean sounded worried, similar to the way he used to if Sam interrupted a hunt.

"I have your letter," he replied. Hearing Dean's voice made Sam realize that the letter instead of a phone call was too distant, that he needed to hear his brother was all right.

"Now's not a good time," Dean replied, his tone going stern.

"What are you hunting?" Sam asked with a sigh. "Maybe I can help with the research." He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that teaching couldn't occupy his brother's attention for long. Dean never had the longest attention span.

"What?" his brother snapped. "Why would you want to help with..." Dean's voice trailed off. Sam heard whispering voices in the background but could not make out what they were saying. "Sam, hang on."

Impatiently he waited, wishing he could make Dean hurry the hell up. Dean returned to the phone with a sigh. "Okay, Sam. What's up?"

"What are you hunting?" Sam repeated.

"Just a ghost," Dean replied in the casual, off-hand manner so typical of his family. "Got a couple of leads. Guess I have a lot of digging to do tonight. Don't suppose you want to fly out and help with that?"

"Uh, no," Sam admitted.

"Do you have a date you want to come see the school?" Dean demanded. "I kind of need to know, Sam, because I'm flat broke right now."

"Oh, uh," Sam stammered. "You know, I don't have to come right away. It could wait until Spring Break, or summer." Honestly he wouldn't mind putting off bad news until even later than that. "I'm sure I can save up some scholarship money to make the flight."

Dean went quiet for a moment like he was considering it. "Nah," he finally said, "I'll take care of it. When is Spring Break?"

Sam rattled off the dates for this year. "Are you sure?" he pressed, liking this idea less the more he thought about it. "I'd prefer to pay for it myself."

Dean snorted into the phone. "What? Either way I'm still paying for it. Look Sam, I'm working on about two hours of sleep, all right? Let me call you back in a day or two after I take care of this ghost."

Sam sighed and pulled the phone away from his ear. He was shocked the connection was still active. Sam pressed it to his ear again. "Dean? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," Dean said in his 'I'm barely tolerating you right now' voice. "Was there something else?"

Honestly he was shocked Dean hadn't hung up on him. "Well, I...just..." He paused to gather his thoughts. "I will be able to meet your, uh, girlfriend. Right?"

Sam could almost feel Jess patting him on the back.

"Uh, sure, I guess," Dean replied uncertainly, making Sam wonder. "And if you call her a stripper to her face, you'll wish I'd just kicked your ass."

That was better, that sounded like his big brother. "You'll try," Sam retorted, happy to be back on old familiar ground.

"Bitch," Dean snapped.

Sam laughed, amazingly happy to hear it. "Jerk."

"Feel better?" Dean asked. "Can I go hunt a ghost?"

"School should be in now. What are you doing out hunting during the week?" Sam asked.

"It seems to be the way my year is going." Dean sighed again. "Sam, I'd really like to get back to it. We're still working on the research."

"Like I said, if you need any help from me..." he let the offer dangle.

"Nah, we got it," Dean assured him. "Go study for a test. Later."

"You'll call me and let me know how it went?" Sam asked, looking for a way of making sure Dean was all right after this hunt.

"Say goodby, Sam," Dean stated in his best 'you're making trouble with Dad again' tone.

"Bye." Now when he pulled the phone away from his ear Sam saw that the connection had been severed. Well, at least that went better than most of their phone conversations had since he left home.

Spring Break. Great. He would be able to see Dean's 'school', meet some of the people there, find out for himself if this Libby person really existed, and let Dean drop the bad news on him. Whatever that bad news was. Maybe he should do a little research on genetic diseases related to unusual metabolism. Actually, now that Sam thought about it, this would give him time to at least figure out enough that might be wrong with Dean so he would know where to look to fix it.

Determination setting in with a goal in mind, Sam pulled out his trusty laptop and prepared for the most important research project he'd ever had. By the time Spring Break rolled around he would be ready.

* * *

"It wasn't Giles McGraw," Ray insisted, pointing out their photocopy of the faded newspaper photo from Giles' obiturary. "The ghost didn't look anything like him."

His daughter's boyfriend shuffled through some more print-outs. "Other than old man McGraw, all we have to go on is the guy who built the house."

"Emmett Smithson," Elizabeth said before Dean could find it.

"Right. Him. And no picture," he added, holding up the land record for the farm. Dean stared at the land record, deep in thought. They waited. "You know," he said slowly, "even if he didn't have any family, I'll bet his neighbors did."

Elizabeth gave him a quizzical look. "And if they did?"

Dean turned to face her. "Well, we could ask around. If Smithson was some kind of nutcase or murderer, the locals will know stories about him."

"There aren't any newspaper articles about him," Elizabeth pointed out.

Dean shrugged. "There are more ways to research than newspaper articles and books. You know, I wonder how far back this town's arrest records go? The guy seemed pretty violent, if it was this Smithson character I'll bet he was arrested at least once."

Ray stood, wearing borrowed jeans snug enough he had to hold in his stomach and a plaid flannel shirt that fit a little too well. He and Dean were almost exactly the same size. The boots were a little large, however. "Mother and I met a lady playing bingo last week. She works at the courthouse. I'm sure we could convince her to help out."

"We'll drop you off. Libby and I can hit some of your neighbors and ask around about Smithson," Dean replied. "I'll leave you my cell number so you can call when you're ready."

Ray glanced at his wife in her newly purchased dress, very similar in style to what their daughter typically wore. Elizabeth wore jeans and a sweatshirt, which was more her mother's preference. He held out a hand and Marion slipped hers into it. "Whenever you two are ready."

"Right after lunch," Dean said, standing. "I'm starving."

* * *

"He eats like a horse," Marion stated as they watched the black car pull away from the courthouse. "Did you notice?"

"I did," Ray confirmed. "No fat on him, though."

"I like the way he looks at Elizabeth," she said. "You didn't notice that though, did you?"

"I have," he replied, "but I'm trying to ignore it."

Marion laughed at him, mounting the steps in time with his stride. "It's sweet. Elizabeth deserves a man who adores her like that."

He chose not to comment, remembering all too clearly his daughter's lack of embarrassment over being caught in her boyfriend's bed. They definitely went wrong with her somehow. Then again, she finally picked a decent boyfriend. He should cut her some slack for that. And Elizabeth seemed to be arguing less with her mother. Ray wondered if that was because the boyfriend made her happier, or if perhaps she understood her mother better now. Hard to say.

Several tedious hours later, after reading lots of dusty handwritten arrest records, Ray and his wife had found two recorded incidents for E. Smithson. He hoped it would be enough. If he had to plow through any more ancient arrest reports in bad penmanship, Ray just might turn his borrowed handgun on himself. Surely Dean did not do this all the time. He couldn't imagine. And he thought Colonels had too much paperwork. Give him a typewritten or electronic report any day, even base consumption reports, over this.

The good looking black car rolled up in front of the courthouse. Ray offered his wife his arm before rushing out into the cold wind whipping down the street. By the time they reached the backseat of Dean's car Marion was shivering. Inside the heat was cranked up.

"Anything?" Dean asked, pulling away from the curb.

"Two arrests," Marion reported. "One for drunk and disorderly, the other for running off a census taker with an ax. Apparently when it's the mayor's daughter, it's a no-no."

"Oh, that's nothing." Elizabeth turned around to talk over the seat. "Two families have their own personal family legends about Psycho Smithson."

"Do they really call him that?" Ray asked.

Dean chuckled. "Has a nice ring to it, right? Go on, Baby. Tell 'em the rest."

He shot his wife a glance over the 'baby' endearment. She patted his hand with a knowing smile, nodding at their daughter to continue.

"According to one family, he went after any one who came on his property without an invitation. With an ax." Her gaze locked on him. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

Ray nodded. "Was that it?"

"Nope," Dean added. "According to the other family, Psycho Smithson went on a rampage one day, attacking the fence between his property and theirs with that ax of his. After destroying about a hundred feet of fence, he went into the house. That was the last time any one saw him alive."

Elizabeth chimed in, "It was almost a week before the sheriff decided to check up on him. I guess they were all afraid to go on the property. They found him hanging in the basement. His death was ruled a suicide."

"Now why would he do that?" Marion asked curiously. Ray doubted she expected a real answer.

"Mental illness is pretty serious, Mother," Elizabeth replied and, for once, Ray did not hear any condescending note in her voice. "With extreme violent cases, which Emmett Smithson clearly was, there is no anticipating the outcome. Without another outlet readily available, he turned his violence on himself. It's sad, really."

"What's sad is the fact he's hanging out in your mother's kitchen," Ray reminded her. "Now that we know who he is, or was, what do we do?"

"Grab some dinner," Dean replied.

Ray stared at the back of the young man's head. "Is there ever a time you're not starving?"

Elizabeth smiled, easy and almost carefree. Actually, happy would be a better description. "No."

Dean shrugged while driving. "Nothing we can do until after dark anyway."

* * *

Actually there had been quite a bit to do before dark, even if Dean considered it 'nothing'. Libby and her parents tagged along as Dean found out where Smithson had been buried from public records and visited the graveyard. After she tripped twice walking along the paths, too distracted reading the headstones for the name 'Smithson', Dean fell back to walk beside her. He took her hand in his.

"How are your parents doing with all this?" he asked in a quiet voice, befitting their location.

"They're good," Libby assured her boyfriend. He gave her a searching look. "Honestly. They've always believed in ghosts. It was a source of contention between us."

"Meaning you didn't," Dean replied. He gripped her hand tighter. "By the way, I am planning on paying you back for all the money you're spending on food and clothes."

She shook her head emphatically. "Oh no, you're not. They're my parents. If we should be spending anyone's money, we should be spending mine. Period. End of discussion."

"All right. Relax," he admonished. A mischievous grin appeared. "You're sexy when you get all worked up like that."

She glanced around to locate her parents; they were way off to the right, hopefully out of earshot. "Asking to be shot at," she murmured.

Dean snorted. "If your dad was planning to shoot me, he would've done it by now."

"Shot at," Libby reminded him, "not shot."

He paused in the path, pulling her to a standstill. With his free hand, he motioned to the far back corner where a short decorative iron fence surrounded one area, so old half of it was resting against the tombstones. "That might be too old, but let's check it out."

They threaded their way to the separated area. Dean glanced over his shoulder before hopping the ancient iron fence. Using his hand he brushed away dirt and debris to read the engravings one by one. At the very back, next to the section of fence which was falling over, he paused.

"Got it!" Dean called out. He removed a spray can from inside his jacket to paint a large 'x' over the grave. Her parents wandered over at his announcement, arriving in time to watch Dean spray painting.

"What is that for?" her father asked.

"Glows in the dark," Dean replied. "It'll make it easier to find tonight."

"What are you going to do tonight?" the Colonel asked. "Is there some kind of ceremony to contain his ghost or make him go away?"

"Kind of." Dean jumped back over the fence. "I have to salt and burn the body."

An involuntary shudder ran through Libby. That was disgusting. "Tell me you're kidding," she pleaded.

"What does that do?" her father asked.

"My dad calls it death for ghosts," Dean replied with a shrug. "But don't ask me what happens to them after, that's above my paygrade."

"In that case, I'll help," he stated using his command voice. Libby grew up hating that tone, and really hating the fact she automatically responded to it just like a good soldier.

Dean glanced at her, like he needed her permission to allow her father to help. Libby shrugged. "It's not like you can stop Colonel Darling."

Her father smiled, exuding confident and authority. "Not without at least one star."

* * *

Colonel Darling insisted on carrying his own shovel, flashlight, and shotgun. He had the distinct impression if only one shovel were carried into the graveyard it would never leave Dean's hands. They made their way to the older section of the graveyard. Dean hopped effortlessly over the old wrought iron fence, which was easily over four feet high. Ray studied it for a moment before deciding to step up on it and drop down on the other side. By the time he landed, Dean stood over the objective, shovel plunging into the rich earth.

Not wanting to look like he was in a hurry, after all if he were still on active duty this assignment would be delegated to buck privates or as punishment for some idiot who had really screwed up, Ray laid his flashlight on a nearby headstone to shine down on the ground. Dean did not speak as he set a steady pace of digging. After fifteen minutes or so Dean paused to take off his leather jacket and toss it to hang on the fence. Soon Ray had to stand inside the hole he was digging with Dean. The dirt whispered softly as it fell to the ground around the grave, filling the air with a rich earthy scent. The shovels made harsh scraping noises as they bit into the soil.

When his shovel made a hollow noise Dean paused in digging to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead. "Get as much dirt off as you can," he instructed.

Ray nodded, using his shovel to scrape away the dirt. They worked well in that hole together, hardly a word needed.

"That'll do it," Dean announced when the outline of the coffin was obvious. "You should get out now, Colonel. I'll handle this part."

His pride made him want to argue but Ray understood a thing or two about experts. When you have an expert, you should trust him to do his job. He pulled himself out of the hole to watch what Dean would do next. After checking that he was clear, Dean straddled the coffin and raised the shovel. The business end of the shovel was pointed straight down while Dean held the handle with both hands. With a grunt he thrust it sharply, cracking open the coffin lid.

Ray took an involuntary step back. The boy hadn't said anything about opening the coffin. He covered his mouth with one hand while Dean laboriously split it open revealing decayed remains of a man in a black suit. It wasn't his first dead body, but it was his first exhumed one. Dean tossed the shovel out of the hole. Ray held out a hand to help the young man out. Dean's grasp was firm and strong, he fairly leapt out of the hole with Ray's assistance. Ray noticed that the skin on Dean's hands was rough and callused from plenty of hard labor. Another point in the boy's favor.

Standing above the grave Dean opened two salt canisters, holding one in each hand, to pour into the opened casket. He nodded at the two bottles of lighter fluid on top of one of the headstones. Ray took the silent order in stride, reaching down to pick up the plastic bottles. He opened one and dumped out the contents over the corpse. Dean set his salt down and reached into his pocket. He took out a piece of cloth. He took the other bottle of lighter fluid from Ray and opened the top. After dumping a portion of the fluid into the coffin, Dean stuffed the cloth into the top leaving a few inches sticking out. Having a pretty good idea of what would happen next, Ray moved further back out of the way. Dean retrieved a silver lighter from his other pocket and lit the cloth. He held the bottle of lighter fluid in one hand for a moment, watching the cloth burn, before he tossed it into the open grave.

Flames roared across the interior of the coffin burning the body as the lighter fluid caught. Dean stepped back to join Ray in watching it burn.

"Now what?" Ray asked.

"We wait," Dean replied. "When he's done, we fill it back in."

Ray glanced at the young man standing beside him. "You really think no one will notice?"

His daughter's boyfriend shrugged, face deadly serious. "People don't want to notice. You'd be shocked at some of the stuff I've gotten away with." He held up two fingers. "Only two warrants out for grave desecration. Any idea how many of these I've done?"

"More than two," Ray said with conviction, not wanting to know an actual number.

He felt distanced from this surreal scene, like he stood outside of his body watching it happen. Finally the flames died down and Dean picked up a shovel. More tired from the digging than he thought he would have been, Ray moved a little slower filling it in than he had digging it out. Dean, however, seemed to maintain the same steady pace. This task was quicker. Even though there wasn't enough dirt to fill the hole back up completely, Dean seemed unconcerned.

"That's good," Dean announced when the hole was reasonably filled. "I like it when they're in an old section like this. Nobody visits really old graves because everyone who knew them are dead." He shouldered his shovel. "Ready to check on your girls, Colonel?"

Ray was unsuccessful at keeping the appreciative smile off his face. "I am. I don't suppose you have any more of those energy bars in the trunk?"

"At least two more boxes," Dean promised. "Good thing, too. I'm starved. I hate it when Libby doesn't have an oven handy."

"Careful, son," Ray warned. "That's how they get you. They make it so you can't imagine your life without them. Next thing you know, you're wearing ties to go out to eat, watching opera and putting up with pink wallpaper in your den." He glanced over. "Think you're ready that?"

Dean sighed heavily, his head lifting to steal glances at the black car parked down the road from the cemetery, where Marion and Elizabeth waited for them. "Honestly, Colonel, I don't know. I wasn't ready for any serious relationship when I met Libby. She just..." He shrugged, a silly grin erupting.

"I know what you mean," Ray assured him. "We realized Elizabeth was...special...when she was about four. She could recite every story her mother had ever read to her. She could tell you what was on every page. Lord help you if you made a mark or spilled something on one of her books."

Dean chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"I still remember the first time she saw a coffee ring on one of my reports." Ray laughed. "You would've thought I'd just committed treason. She told me the president would put me in time-out."

Dean joined him in a laugh. It was amazing considering what they had just done, what this young man did regularly, that he could laugh. Dean's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and he had a real laugh, not forced or fake. This soldier in the battle against spooks and specters could live this kind of life and still laugh. That said an awful lot about him. They walked around to the trunk of the black car. They knocked the dirt off their shovels on the paved road before depositing them into the trunk. Dean took out a box of those energy bars and held it out. Ray accepted two for himself.

"Thanks. Think it's safe to go to the house now?" he asked.

Dean frowned, drumming the fingers of one hand on the roof of the car. "I hope so. I'm not positive it's safe. You mentioned that you've seen the last owner of the farm around too, right?"

"Not for a while now," Ray replied. "Maybe Smithson scared him off."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. If you're willing to check it out, I'd say let's go."


	81. Chapter 81: Quality Time

Chapter 81: **Quality Time**

Dean wanted Libby and her mother to wait in the car, with Colonel Darling, while he checked out the house. He was unanimously overruled. His girlfriend and her family trooped into the house behind him and his EMF meter. Motioning for them to stay near the front door with her father standing guard with the spare shotgun, he proceeded to perform a sweep-check of the house. Not only was the EMF silent but those warning hairs on the back of his neck and down his arms never twitched. If Giles McGraw had ever haunted this house, he was gone now, along with the original owner.

"I think we got it," he announced coming back down the stairs.

"In that case," Missus Darling spoke up, "I believe you and the Colonel could stand to clean up. Elizabeth, why don't we prepare a snack? I'm sure Dean could eat."

"All right, Mother," Libby replied. She rushed over to give Dean a quick kiss on the cheek. "You heard her," she whispered.

Okay. Dean headed upstairs to make use of the guest shower. The water pressure sucked, but that was probably because Colonel Darling was following the same order downstairs. He decided to go ahead and dress for bed in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. Because the house was a little chilly he pulled on one of his plaid button-downs too. After passing his towel over his head a couple of times, Dean figured he was dry enough to eat. His stomach rumbled at the thought of Missus Darling's home cooking.

He went directly to the dining room only to find it dark and empty. Cutting through, he opened the door to the kitchen. It was light and cheerful in here, Libby and her mother chatting about some legislature due to be passed by Congress. Her father sat at the small kitchen table, which looked like it only seated four, tucked into the far corner.

"There he is," Libby sang out. "We can eat now." She beamed as she picked up a large plate with two huge slices of pie. If he had to guess he would say it was leftover apple pie from their first night here. There hadn't been time to bake one while he showered. He took his plate from her intending to go sit with her father at the table. When Libby turned around again to pick up two dessert plates, without thinking about it, Dean plucked a pin from the knot on her head. When he had two, he went to the kitchen table. He and the colonel faced each other while Libby and her mother sat on either side of them.

"Dean?" Missus Darling asked, passing out napkins. "Would you mind if I asked you about this ghost hunting that you do?"

He had a feeling he knew where this would lead but Dean shrugged and gave her permission anyway. He slipped the hairpins on to his shirt pocket. Libby spotted them and one hand lifted to check her hair while he grinned at her.

"How in the world did you start doing this?" her mother asked. "I mean, this isn't your typical career choice."

"And the pay sucks," he added jokingly. No one laughed, they watched him expectantly. Crap. "Well, it really started when I was a kid. See my mother, uh..." This had never been easy to talk about. The emotions around this table felt safe and oddly protective, as if anything he told them would never make it outside these walls. It reminded him of his sessions with Hank.

"Something killed her," he forced himself to say. "My dad kind of went off the deep end after that. He was determined to figure out what it was and how to kill it. Along the way, he found out that ghosts, ghouls, boogeymen, all that stuff, was real. And he started hunting." Dean shoved a large bite of pie in his mouth, hoping that would be the end of this line of questioning. He knew better. Really. These were Libby's parents after all. There was no way they would leave it at that but he had to try.

They talked with each other about the research and digging up Smithson while he ate. Apparently the colonel and his wife planned to have the woman from the courthouse who helped them over to dinner later this week.

As he scraped the remains of pie from his plate, Missus Darling focused on him again. Yeah, he knew this was coming. "I'd really like to know when you started hunting, Dean."

Again the emotions around the table were protective and warm.

"It's hard to say," he replied slowly. "I mean, I always knew about the monsters. Any time my dad ran across a new one, new to him, he would bring back all his research on it and teach me about it. Most of the time he left me behind to look after my little brother. But I guess I was about twelve when I started helping out."

Stunned silence fell over the table. Not exactly the reaction he had been hoping for, but not unexpected either.

"When did you learn to shoot?" Colonel Darling asked, the first to recover his voice.

"I think I was about six or seven the first time Dad took me out to show me how to shoot. I hit everything I aimed at." He sat up a little straighter with pride at the memory. "He said I was a natural."

"The next time you and Elizabeth come out, we'll have to do a little target practice," the Colonel suggested, his eyes shining like this was his idea of the ultimate in fun. "I'm setting up a shooting range out back. The hay bales arrive next week."

Dean glanced at Libby. "And you didn't want to wait?"

Irritation came from her but it wasn't sharp and prickly, like she was really annoyed, it was more like a few bumps in her typical smooth emotions. This was not unusual to her or unexpected, it was as if she had been waiting for her father to mention it.

Dean made eye contact with Colonel Darling. "I take it you never, uh?" He jerked his head in her direction.

"Not allowed," was the gruff disgruntled reply.

"Certainly not," Missus Darling stated. "More pie, Dean?" Smooth, protective emotions wrapped around the kitchen table like a comfortable old quilt. Dean felt his fears of not being welcome fade as he accepted the offer for more pie.

* * *

After their late night dessert, her parents seemed to want to stay up longer talking, to the point of bribing Dean with more snacks. Her boyfriend sat on the couch munching away on a bag of those terrible high fat and high calorie snacks which were too delicious to pass up. Of course, those were the perfect kind for Dean.

Libby sat next to him and checked on the pocket of his shirt. There were over a half dozen of her bobby pins stuck on there! Damn. She felt at the knot on the back of her head which wobbled at her touch. It wouldn't be long now.

"How long have you two been dating?" her father asked as he sat in the large leather easy chair. Dean offered her father the bag of snacks and he took a handful.

"Since Thanksgiving," Libby replied. Hadn't they already been over this?

Her parents asked about other trivial matters, like Dean's classes and class schedule. Each time she turned away from Dean she could swear she felt him tugging another hairpin. He appeared perfectly innocent when she faced him, but she knew better. Plus the number of hairpins on his pocket kept increasing. Finally she couldn't stand it any longer.

"Now?" Libby demanded, interrupting a discussion about how to prevent the shotguns from rusting when using rocksalt ammunition.

Dean turned to regard her, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Sure, Baby. If you're ready."

She gave her head a strong shake and her hair broke loose, whipping across her face and cascading down over her shoulders. Dean chuckled as she ran her fingers through her hair searching for stray hairpins Dean hadn't stolen. Two. She held them out to him and he grinned broadly.

"That's a record, right?" he asked.

"Your personal best," she told him, stuffing the bobby pins into his pocket.

"You know, I think it's been years since I've seen Elizabeth with her hair down," Mother said, staring at her curiously.

She felt one of Dean's hands wriggle behind her lower back to grasp her side. Libby expected to be tickled but all he did was hold her.

"I like it both ways," Dean announced, his gaze calm and steady on her face. "When it's up I can see her neck, and when it's down, she relaxes a little more."

She tossed him a scowl. "Oh, it doesn't make a difference to how I act." His hand gave her side a quick squeeze.

"Are you sure you have to go back tomorrow?" her father asked. He was looking at her, not Dean. She had expected the question to be directed at her boyfriend.

"Yes," she replied after a moments hesitation. "We've already stayed longer than we planned. I have a feeling the teachers covering for Dean are at the point of making things up to fill class time."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Oh, man, don't remind me. You know, when I was in school, I honestly thought teachers just stood up there and talked. Nothing prepared. If I'd known how much work went into it..." He shook his head again.

"You would have been a better student?" Mother asked, the hint of a teasing smile on her face.

Dean grinned at her. "Doubt it," he said with a chuckle.

Mother laughed. "Oh, I just keep liking him more all the time."

"It's late," her father announced. "Elizabeth, would you mind if I stole Dean for about ten minutes while you get ready for bed?"

Now that was a dismissal if she ever heard one. Libby turned to Dean, wondering if he was okay with this. Dean nodded and shrugged.

"All right," she said dubiously, eying her father with suspicion. "As long as you're not planning on shooting him."

Dean and her father both chuckled at her, amused by her concern.

"Go on, Baby," Dean assured her. "I promise to come tell you goodnight."

"In that case..." Mother stood. First she kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, then Dean. She gave the Colonel a cutting glare. "You will behave yourself."

"Yes, Mother," he promised with a gentle smile. In the past Libby had assumed that was his 'patient' smile, the way he looked when he did not want to do something and Mother made him. It did not appear that way to her now. His smile was warm and kind, very similar to the way Dean was looking at her.

Mother kissed the Colonel lightly on the cheek before striding confidently out of the room.

Libby stood to face her father. "Ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes," he replied solemnly.

She nodded her approval before leaning in for another of his awkward hugs. The man just did not know how to hug properly. She paused by Dean before heading upstairs. He smiled at her again and her heart made one of those little hops in her chest causing a large grin to erupt on her face. He winked at her and she knew it was all right for her to be in his room when he came up. Libby gave him a quick kiss, right on the lips in front of her father. A year ago if someone had asked her if she would kiss a man in front of her father Libby would had laughed in the querier's face. Now it felt unnatural not to.

She hoped the Colonel wouldn't be too hard on her boyfriend. So far she didn't think anything had happened which might run Dean off.

* * *

Colonel Darling sat in his chair watching Libby go up the stairs. When they were alone, he stood. "I don't suppose you like scotch?" He pulled a few books out of the built-in bookshelves lining the wall behind his chair.

"Sure," Dean replied, wondering what this would be about. He still fully expected a loaded rifle to figure prominently in his future. If he had to guess, he would say this was about how the Colonel found them together last night. And rightfully so. If he had a daughter and discovered her sleeping in the same bed with her boyfriend in his house, well, he wasn't sure how he would react, except that it wouldn't be good.

Colonel Darling removed a bottle of scotch from behind the books. From the lower cabinets he took out two glasses. "Mother doesn't mind, but she prefers that it's not on display in case we have visitors."

He poured out two fingers of scotch into one of the glasses before holding it out to Dean. Dean took it and settled on the couch again. Colonel Darling sat in the chair across from him. He glanced at the hall his wife had gone through to go to bed, then at the stairs.

Rolling the glass between his palms, Colonel Darling looked a little nervous. Then his gaze locked on Dean like a laser sight. "I know about that school."

Dean tried his most innocent expression. "I would hope so, since your daughter works there."

The Colonel twirled his glass, the amber liquid swirling like a twister. "I'm talking about the mutant factor, which you damn well know. Elizabeth was tested when she was five. I'm the carrier. It's not the reason she's an only child, but it was a factor." His gaze intensified. "What's your story?"

No hatred. No disgust. No negative emotions whatsoever. Then again, as well as Colonel Darling could control his emotions, Dean figured he might be able to hide what he really felt about it.

Dean sighed, choosing to go ahead and give in. He had a feeling it would be difficult to lie to Colonel Darling. And if he did and it came out later, he was positive there would be serious consequences, not just for him but perhaps for Libby as well. "I can influence the way people perceive things. And, unfortunately, I'm an empath."

Darling gave him a quick nod, as if he has been expecting an answer along those lines. "How long have you known?" he asked.

Dean shrugged. "Shortly before I started dating your daughter. Late bloomer, I guess."

Colonel Darling downed the rest of his scotch. "You're part of their commando unit, aren't you? The X-Men?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What X-Men?" he tried. Dean didn't mind so much revealing information about himself, but asking him to betray the team was another matter.

The Colonel rolled his eyes and snorted derisively, the first negative emotions Dean had experienced since arriving here. "Please. I know a soldier when I see one." He tapped one shoulder with two fingers. "I'm a full-bird colonel, son. I made my career by being able to filter out the soldiers from the GI Bill recruits. If you had been assigned under my command, I would have had you in Special Ops training the day after I met you."

Dean stared at the man in utter disbelief for a few moments. "Really?" he ventured.

The Colonel glared. "I thought you were an empath. Can't you tell when someone is lying?"

Dean shrugged. "Honestly, you're pretty damned good at controlling your emotions, Colonel. I'm sure you could lie to me."

Colonel Darling smiled and set his glass down. "Really? Good to hear. A man ought to be able to keep some things to himself. But I'm not lying about that. Or what I'm going to tell you next." He leaned forward and his voice dropped to a whisper. "The US government knows about that school of yours. The only reason they haven't stepped in is because one, most of 'em are afraid of mutants, and two, Xavier's mutants are the only force keeping Magneto's mutants in check."

"Who?" Dean asked, matching the Colonel's whisper. "What's a Magneto?"

Darling scowled. "I've heard that Xavier worked on a need-to-know basis."

Dean tried not to roll his eyes. Great. Just when he managed to convince Dad to quit that crap, he goes to work for another guy who does it. It also explained why Xavier thought nothing of sitting on Sam's medical test results. "Apparently," he agreed, mentally kicking himself for not figuring it out sooner.

"Magneto is Max Eisenhardt, a former colleage of Charles Xavier, and has powers of magnetism." Dean had to roll his eyes now. No freaking imagination, just like Professor X. "He is also recruiting mutants and forming his own little mutant army. His mission is a little different from Xavier's. He seems to think that mutants ought to run the world."

Oh, that guy. "Yeah, okay, I guess I know who you're talking about. I just never heard his name before." He tapped his fingers against his glass. "You know, when I met Logan, it was because we were both after the same guy. Logan mentioned this guy worked for somebody who thought he should be running things, so I guess he meant Magneto."

"Logan," Colonel Darling muttered with a frown, his brow furrowing the way Libby's did when she concentrated. "As I recall there was a Logan in the Canadian mutant team, Team X, but that was a while ago. I wonder if it's the same man."

"Canadian team? How many mutant teams are there?" Dean asked. There was so much no one had bothered to tell him. He should have suspected as much. All those classes at the Institute might hold a second purpose, to keep him too busy to ask Big Picture questions.

"Quite a few," Colonel Darling replied. "There might be one within the US military as well, but if there is, it wasn't sanctioned. I know for a fact that particular operation was ordered shut down. I helped make sure it wasn't funded." He scowled again. "They were trying to genetically combine different mutant abilities into a whole team of super-soldiers. It was one of the most idiotic ideas to come across my desk in a long damn time." Darling shook his head as course and hard emotions leaked slowly into the room. "I mean, I can see recruiting mutants with special abilities and learning how those abilities work, the limits and restrictions on them, in order to better train the individual soldiers. But they were talking about isolating the portions of the x-gene by ability, turning on what they wanted using radical gene therapy treatments, and implanting them into regular humans. I made damn sure all avenues leading to that program were shut down before I retired."

Colonel Darling even felt annoyed, like it was too stupid to have gone far enough to require his personal attention in shutting it down.

"Why?" Dean asked softly. "It sounds like the military thing to do."

Colonel Darling's stern expression softened. A little. "Not in my army. Like I said, I didn't have a problem with a program to recruit mutants and help them test and learn their abilities to make them the best soldiers they could be, much like that institute of yours does. Genetically manipulating people to give them the qualities you want? No. That's going too far. The x-gene mutations are natural, I don't have an issue with those. If we allow the other, the next thing you know we'll have designer babies, people ordering children with specific IQs, hair color, eye color, height, you name it. I don't care how you slice it, it's wrong and we won't be able to control it." One hand slammed down on the small table next to his chair causing his glass to rattle against the top. "Taking the human factor out of the human race is not tolerable. We're not perfect and that's the whole point."

Dean hadn't really thought along those lines before. This was definitely Libby's father. Her passionate fire came from him. "The whole point is to not be perfect?" he asked, unsure if this would unleash a whole new tirade.

"Certainly," her father insisted sternly. "What would the point in living be if everything and everyone were perfect? We need to strive to better ourselves, our environment, and our lives. When I leave this earth I want to be a better man than when I came into it. If I can do that, I've made an accomplishment. What accomplishment is there in being perfect? In perfection there is no room for improvement, the ability to accomplish anything has been removed."

An image of Missus Darling dropping the coffee cups on the table flashed through his mind, followed by Libby stumbling in the cemetery because she was too distracted from reading the headstones.

"Some imperfections are cute," Dean added. Colonel Darling gave him a questioning look. "Libby might never forget anything she's ever read, but she can't walk down the hall without stumbling at least once because she's not thinking about what her feet are doing."

A beaming smile spread across her father's face. "Her mother's like that too. It was the second thing I noticed about her."

"What was the first?" Dean asked curiously.

"Her smile." Colonel Darling shrugged. "But I won't be distracted that easily, son. You are on the X-Men, aren't you? Is that the reason you've been beat to hell?"

Dean sighed. "I was kind of hoping you hadn't noticed that."

"I didn't when you arrived," the Colonel agreed, "but when I woke you up last night, I saw the bruises on your legs then later at the motel I noticed the black eye."

Dean winced, one hand automatically lifting to his bruised eye. "You saw that too, huh? Guess I was distracted by your ghost."

Colonel Darling's gaze intensified again. "You made it so I wouldn't notice? Is that the perception thing you mentioned?"

Dean nodded.

"Want to tell me why you have those bruises?" he asked, his emotions again controlled and perfectly even and level.

Dean shook his head. "No, sir. Not really."

The Colonel's brow furrowed. "Blown op?"

"More like a set-up," he found himself admitting, against his better judgment.

Colonel Darling winced and refilled his glass. "I don't suppose I can pry it out of you?"

Dean shook his head, downing the rest of his scotch. "I'd rather not."

"Well, I am glad you come. I was wondering how to pass on a message to Xavier. You mind?" Darling stated, swirling the drink in his glass again.

"Okay," Dean replied, unsure what he might be committing to.

"Tell him to watch some of these new senators. There are a couple who are in that character Stryker's back pocket. They'll cause trouble, especially the one on the appropriations committee." Colonel Darling sipped at his drink while Dean looked on, shocked into silence.

"You know about...Stryker?" he asked, wondering if he was crossing a line here.

The Colonel nodded. "And his mercenaries. Calls them Purifiers." He shook his head in disgust, hot prickly aggravation shooting out. "Bunch of sadist bastards for sale to the highest bidder if you ask me." He shot Dean a strong look. "You've crossed paths with them?"

Dean sighed and pointed out his black eye.

"Oh." Colonel Darling finished off his scotch. "Well, I'm going to head to bed. If you wait much longer, I'm afraid my daughter will march down here demanding to know why I'm keeping you so long."

"Probably." Dean handed the dirty glass over.

"Good night, Dean."

"Night, Colonel."

After that bizarre talk with her father, Dean was unsure how to tell Libby about it or even if he should. He walked upstairs slowly, turning over each piece of new information in his mind. His life was too weird.

In the room he found Libby dressed for bed, sitting up against the headboard reading a book. She smiled and set the paperback aside when he walked in.

"What's that?" he asked, not remembering Libby bringing any paperbacks with her.

Libby made a sour face and held up the book. It had the image of a woman in a flowing white gown centered on it with a shirtless well built man standing behind her. "Some of the trash Mother reads. What did the Colonel want?"

He only hesitated for a second. "For me to deliver a message to Xavier."

Libby frowned, setting the book on the bedside table. "What kind of message?" Suspicion rose sharp and tangy.

He sat next to her on the bed, wondering how she would take the news. Libby had told him on the drive here that her parents knew nothing about mutants.

"To watch out for the new senators, especially the one on the appropriations committee, because they're in Stryker's pocket," he replied.

She stared at him radiating pure disbelief. "Bullshit."

Fortunately her non-librarian comments no longer threw him for a loop. Also, he understood why she used them better now. It was for pretty much the same reason he did; she grew up hearing it all the time.

"That's what he said," Dean replied. "And he wanted to know what I could do."

She frowned, her brow furrowing in deep ridges. "You don't mean as a mutant?"

Dean nodded. Waves of anger were punctuated with sharp spikes of horror, and between the waves coasted a backwash of resentment and sorrow. It was more than enough to make him want to go gargle with mouthwash.

"He should have told me," she murmured.

"Maybe he couldn't," Dean suggested. "It might have been classified."

All of her emotions evened out and eventually suspended as that spaced-out look came over her face. After what felt like an eternity she nodded slowly. "Maybe it was. That would explain it. The Colonel is a good soldier." She scowled. "He could use some improvement as a father, though. I mean, really! He knew? And he couldn't tell me?" Libby gasped. "He knows about me too?"

He should probably lie about this one. "I don't know. Maybe."

Libby rolled her eyes and fresh spikes of prickly irritation plowed through him. "Probably," she muttered, one fist slamming down on to the mattress with a bounce. "So that whole thing downstairs wasn't to threaten you about us sleeping in the same bed? How stupid of me to think he was actually behaving like a stereotypical father!"

"Oh, that," Dean waved it off. "He's not real happy about it, but he knew before he caught us."

"You told him?" she demanded, her voice a little too loud.

"No," he hissed, waving at her to lower her voice. The last thing they needed was her mother bursting in on them too. "I'm telling you, he knew. Don't ask me how he knew, he just knew."

On an impulse, Dean placed a hand on her arm. She stared at it a moment before taking the hand and using it to wrap his arm around her. Libby leaned against him, burrowing her face in his neck.

"I'm really glad you came," she said, her arms holding him tight.

Yeah, those were the emotions he had begun developing an addiction to. "Me too." Her fears about her parents running him off came to mind. "I do like your parents. Even if I didn't, I think you'd have a hard time getting rid of me."

He was awash in a flood of warm, light, sweet emotions. Dean couldn't quite put a name to this one but that was all right. He was quite happy just to experience it.


	82. Chapter 82: New Faces

Chapter 82: **New Faces**

With promises to stop by next time they visited Dean's brother Adam, Libby and Dean left her parents' house.

"They will be all right?" she demanded, twisting in her seat to watch the large sprawling farm house shrink in the distance.

"Sure, Baby," Dean assured her. "I went over all kinds of ghost protections with your father before we left and he has my cell number. I was thinking about calling Bobby and asking him to drop by, but after installing all those demon protections at the Drake house he's been making comments about changing his business to supernatural interior decorating, so it might be a good idea to give him a break."

Libby had to laugh at that. She could hear Bobby Singer saying those exact words in her head.

"Perhaps Professor Xavier could assign someone to do that," she suggested. "This person could learn from your friends Bobby and Jim, and then when anyone at the Institute required those services, he could go instead of bothering them."

Dean waved a hand at himself over the steering wheel. "I think that would be me."

Libby scowled. "You have enough to do as it is. No, I was thinking of Shawn or one of the others who don't have regular teaching assignments."

Dean chuckled. "How about Gambit?"

Libby grinned. "I'd love to see him trying to explain to my parents why salt is so important. And what the odds are."

Dean snorted. "He'd have to know them first."

"I'll set up a meeting with Professor Xavier after we return to discuss it," she announced. "Unless you'd rather do it?"

His right arm lifted and Libby slipped under, relishing the weight added to her shoulders. "Taking care of me, huh?" He gave her shoulders a brief squeeze. "Careful, I might start to like it."

"Promise?" she asked, leaning harder against him.

His answer was merely a chuckle with a tight hold around her, but it made Libby feel warm and comfortable and as if nothing could possibly go wrong. Today.

* * *

"We ain't brought nobody new in since we found out about the demon," Logan argued. "Hunter ought to be back and ready to go no later than t'morrow."

Summers glared. "Logan, we can't depend on Hunter every time we think some demon may be involved. You and I have the exorcism ritual memorized, we've both seen demons in person, and Hunter has given all of us the demon-training crash course. Do you really want to make those kids wait another day, knowing what's after them?"

Logan scowled. He hated when they pulled the 'for the kids' card. It shouldn't make a damn bit of difference in their strategy, but somehow it always did. "Nah," he growled, settling into one of the front seats of the Institute's bus. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Let's go already."

Summers waited about five seconds, just lookin' at him, before startin' up the bus. They drove towards that town, and the abandoned movie theater, but not in silence.

Summers cleared his throat and had to talk up, over the noise of the bus. "Logan? I know you and Hunter talk about these things. Any theories as to why the demons seem to target mutants?"

Logan shrugged. "Last time I talked ta Hunter, he said him and Libby had a new idea about that. Guess we'll have ta wait until they're back."

Summers nodded. They chatted about danger room training ideas for a while and how soon they ought to include the kids in the new supernatural programs.

"I'm thinking the sooner the better," Summers said. "Mister Winchester gave me some ideas on how to scale it down, like a novice level."

Yep. 'course he did. Logan growled under his breath.

"Soon would be good," he admitted. "Since the kids are already learnin' how to spot these things, making it practical just makes sense."

Summers nodded. "Pretty much what I was thinking. Hey, you know, what if we recreated a real hunt? Like one you and Hunter have done? Give the kids the background, a whole series of events, and then turn them loose by twos or threes into the simulation?"

"Don't want 'em huntin' alone," Logan agreed, sitting forward, his interest growing. "Pair 'em up, give each pair about thirty minutes in the simulation to start, see how they do and modify their combat classes to improve on their weaknesses."

Summers' head bobbed up and down. "Right, cross-training. Between simulations, combat, and the legends class, most of these kids ought to be able to at least identify not only if something is after them but what it is and take defensive measures against it by summer."

"I like it." Logan grunted, his cigar wobbling in the corner of his mouth. "We'll have-ta get with Hunter and plan simulations around his classes, so the kids are seein' the same things they're studyin'."

"He's given me a basic outline, but yeah, the three of us will need to plan things out. If this works the way I think it could, we could create a basic curriculum we can repeat each year, just upping the level," the headmaster replied. "You know, I'm going to need to modify my tactics class for this stuff, too. I mean, what do you do if you have an enemy mutant throwing boulders at you at the same time that one of those things in the woods is out to get you?"

Logan figured Summers meant one of them critters he went claw-to-claw with when he met Dean. "Good question. We can try it out in the Danger Room."

"Yeah." Summers actually grinned at the prospect. "We can. Right after we get these kids settled into the dorms and new classes. I don't think we've ever had this many arrive all at the same time before."

Logan drummed his fingers on the rail in front of him. "Still bugs me that there was a demon tryin' to ride herd over 'em. I can't figure what it wanted. You'd think it would just kill 'em unless it wanted somethin'."

"Mutants have abilities norms don't," Summers pointed out. "Maybe that demon was doing recon, to figure out the individual abilities."

Logan scratched along his jaw. "Maybe. Recon makes sense. But what about that yellow-eyed bastard after the whole school?"

"I'd love to say we'll have this solved by the time we return to the school..." One of Summers' hands waved in the air as he shrugged.

"Yeah, I know," Logan grunted. "You're startin' to sound like Dean. More research. More research. I miss the old days. Find the bad guy. Kill 'im. Wait for the next bad guy."

"Speaking of," Summers said over the loud engine noise of the bus, "have you heard from him and Libby? How'd the whole meeting the parents thing go?"

Logan rolled his eyes all around. "You ain't gonna believe this. Only Hunter c'n go to meet his girlfriend's parents and wind up havin' to rid their house of a ghost."

"You're right." Summers shook his head. "I don't believe it. Hopefully he'll give us the uncut version after they return. Professor X is planning on a full faculty meeting, that's why I wanted to discuss changing the core combat curriculum with you."

His team leader pointed up ahead. "That's it?"

Logan peered through the front windshield. "Yep. Line of salt on the bus steps?"

"Bottle of Holy Water in hand," Summers added. "And how about a 'christo' greeting before they even walk on?"

Logan nodded. "I like it." The theater still appeared abandoned even though he would be willin' to bet there was around a dozen mutant kids waitin' in the alley.

Summers turned the bus off the main street into the rear alley. At first there was nobody. Logan put down the line of salt on all the bus steps as he backed out, leavin' Summers behind the wheel. He stood outside the bus with a bottle of Holy Water, checkin' that Summers had one too. Glaring at the ground in front of the bus, Logan added a semi-circle of salt on the ground in front of the door too.

The girl he'd seen the last time, the teek, she was the one to look out inta the alley. Logan grunted and waved 'er closer. She and another boy stepped out. The boy looked at him real hard, almost like he could see right through Logan, before givin' the girl a nod. After that a scraggly line of kids followed them into the alley. Logan gave 'em all a 'christo' before lettin' 'em climb on the bus and they was all clean, not possessed. Nobody had more stuff than they could carry, every last one fittin' the description of a classic run-away. All the clothes was worn, torn and stained. None of 'em looked like they'd had a bath in months.

Smell on the bus was god-awful. Logan put down his window soon as he could.

"How long have you guys been hiding out here?" Summers called out.

The girl teek, kind of the runaways' self-appointed leader, sat behind Logan where she could watch Summers drive. "Some of us a few months, some as long as a year. It's the safest place in town."

Summers shook his head, tryin' for sympathy. He missed. "Sounds rough. What'd you do for food?"

"Whatever we had to," she replied, chin held high and proud. Kid kept goin' up a notch in Logan's estimation.

"I'm Scott," Summers told her. He motioned to Logan. "I take it you've met Logan?"

She nodded once, her gaze drawn to the road in front of them. The further they drove from that old theater the more relaxed the girl seemed and the less fear-scent on the bus. 'course it was tough ta smell the fear over the stench of unwashed kids.

"Where is Hunter?" she asked. "He was the one who answered the phone."

"Out of town," Summers said real quick, "too far to make it here this fast. We didn't want you to have to wait."

"You can call me Sarah," she told them. "Hunter promised that the demons couldn't come after us at this school. Is that true?"

Logan nodded with a grunt. "It's protected."

Whispers raced among the other kids on the bus, excited chatter about 'safe' and 'protected' and 'homework.'

"Oh, that's right," Sarah said, nodding at the boy whispering in her ear. "Hunter also promised that we wouldn't have to do homework, even though this is a school."

Summers groaned and shook his head. "Uh, well, not at first, I guess. But if you decide to stay, the Institute is an accredited school, so you'll have to do the homework if you want a high school diploma." He glanced over to shrug at her. "Personally, I'd recommend it."

"Headmaster," Logan explained with a thumb jab at the driver.

Sarah's eyes widened as she stared at Summers. "Headmaster? This school actually sent the headmaster to pick us up?" She exchanged a look of shock with the boy sharing her seat. "Why would you do that?"

"Because we care." Summers stated it so calm, cool and matter-of-fact it made ever'body on the whole bus go real quiet. Logan wondered if Summers could do that with Libby when she went on one of 'er tears about some stupid thing happenin' in Washington. Probably not.

"What kind of classes are there?" a kid a few rows back called out.

"All the usual courses," Summers stated, "English, Math, Science, and Government. But we have special classes, just for kids like you."

"What kind of special classes?" Sarah asked. She still appeared a little suspicious and Logan couldn't blame 'er.

"Leadership and tactics," Summers began, "Myths and Legends which the kids have started calling Demons one-oh-one, urban camouflage, and personalized training for your mutant abilities."

"What's a mutant?" the boy next to Sarah asked.

"You," Logan replied with a hard look. "Me." He jerked 'is head at Summers. "Him."

"You can do something no one else can, right?" Summers asked. "I understand that Sarah is a telekinetic?" Logan nodded in agreement.

"That means she can move things by just thinking about it. What about you? What's your ability?" he asked the boy.

The boy looked nervously to Sarah who nodded at him. He swallowed hard. "I think... I'm pretty sure..."

"He sees demons," Sarah said.

"And ghosts," the boy added meekly, his head ducking like they might throw him off the bus.

Summers smiled. "Unbelievable. Logan, tell me Hunter's birthday is coming up."

"Looks like." Logan gave the boy a long evaluatin' look. Maybe. If it was true, this kid could hold the key to savin' a whole lot of butts. Kid was scrawny, been on the streets longer than most, cheek sunken in, clothes stained and torn, hair long and greasy. "What's your name, kid?"

"Steven," the boy replied, head still down.

"I think we found Drake a new roommate," Logan suggested to Summers.

"Good idea," Summers said. "Especially with all the extra protections in his room. Sarah? When we arrive we'll need for all of you to submit to a medical exam. This first one will be quick, about ten minutes each, and then you'll all be able to make use of the school showers and clothes. We keep kids' clothes in all sizes on hand. Once you're all initially settled in, Miss Munroe will come around to meet each of you and help you order your daily clothes."

"A real shower," Sarah sighed. "Hot food. Clean clothes. I don't know whether this is real or if I'm dreaming."

"Ain't a dream," Logan assured her. "And there's still bad stuff out there waitin' to get you. But at the Institute, there are folks who are willin' to watch your back. All you got to do is be willin' to live with the school rules."

"We will try," she promised.

* * *

The new kids had arrived a few hours before he and Libby. Logan was waiting for them in the garage, arms crossed over his chest and glaring accusingly, like they took the long way back just to annoy him.

It wasn't to annoy him.

"Hey, Logan," Dean called as he stepped out of the car. He stretched and popped his neck and upper back. "What's going on?"

"The runaways are here," Logan declared. "Got about a dozen. The girl Sarah wants to talk to ya."

Dean nodded before pulling his and Libby's stuff from the back seat. "You should've given her your number instead of mine."

"Ain't got a business card," Logan argued, prickly irritation darting wildly through the room.

"I'll make you some," Dean offered.

Logan grunted and snorted, dismissing the idea without a word. He heard Libby's soft giggle and shot her a warning look. Logan was in enough of a mood.

"Let me drop our bags off and I'll come meet her," Dean offered.

"Yep. You are," Logan declared, lifting a chewing cigar to his mouth.

Dean shouldered his duffel and hefted Libby's suitcase with his free hand. He followed her to the teacher's wing and gave her a quick kiss at her door before handing over her bag. Next Dean tossed his duffel in his room. As he followed Logan to one of the rec rooms Dean noticed excitement creeping into his friend's emotions.

"What's up?" he asked, matching Logan's long strides.

"One-a the new kids," Logan replied. "Name's Steven. You got to meet 'im."

"Okay. Why?" It wasn't like Logan to beat around the bush.

But Logan shook his head, his cigar bobbing gently in his mouth. "Just wait. I wanna see your face."

About a dozen kids, most with still wet hair from a recent wash, were crowded around the air hockey table cheering on a match. Dean waited just inside the room with Logan until one of the group noticed them. Silence rippled through the kids, leaving a dozen young teens staring at him and Logan, emotions ranging from curious to plain scared. Dean did his best to start screening them out.

"Hunter?" a young girl asked, stepping forward. Her hair was wet, like the others, so it looked jet black. She had wide innocent looking eyes which were a strange translucent green, giving her an unearthly presence. Unlike the others, there wasn't a hint of fear from her. "I'm Sarah."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah," Dean greeted her. "How was the trip?"

"Good," she replied, sounding far older than she looked. "I knew we could trust Logan. I do wish you had warned us that the other man would be the school's headmaster."

Dean shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Sorry. The guy is really into his job."

Logan cleared his throat and nodded at a young boy standing behind Sarah. The kid was a few inches shorter than the girl, his long and scraggly brown hair hung down to his shoulders, a testament to how long he had been on the streets. When he glanced up, Dean caught a glimpse of deep brown eyes set into a gaunt, starving face.

"Have they been to the cafeteria yet?" Dean asked as the boy's head dipped back down.

"Right after the showers," Logan promised. "That one's Steven. Ask 'im what he c'n do."

"Please believe him," Sarah added quickly. "I didn't at first and I regret it. I will not make that mistake again."

She looked way too young to sound so old. Dean shifted his gaze to the boy.

"Steven?" he asked gently. "What can you do?"

Steven seemed to shrink in size behind Sarah as fear and panic shot out in nasty cutting barbs, so strong they made it past Dean's emotional barriers. Dean crouched down so Steven could look down at him. "Would you rather talk about it in the hall?"

Steven shook his head quickly, the wet hair sticking against his forehead in wavy clumps.

"Go ahead," Sarah whispered. "They are human, right?"

Human? Dean shot Logan a hard look demanding to know what the hell this was about. Logan merely nodded at the boy, forcing Dean to focus back on the kid.

Steven sighed. He said in a mumble, "I can see ghosts."

"Demons too, according to Sarah," Logan added triumphantly, clamping him on the shoulder. "When's your birthday, kid?"

"Tomorrow," Dean muttered, staring at the boy cringing away as more panic radiated into the room. The spot between his shoulderblades turned sore and hot, filled with tension and energy begging to be released. Oh, what the hell? He could go right downstairs and eat. Dean gave his shoulders a large roll, attempting to control the spread of energy as much as he could while thinking of calm, safe things.

"Ah, crap," Logan muttered, the hand on his shoulder tightening to prevent him from rolling it again. "I reckon that's enough."

Dean stared at the kids in the room as the way they held their shoulders, high and tight, relaxed. A few exchanged smiles. After a couple of minutes the air hockey game was back on and the cheering was louder than ever. A few kids, including Sarah and Steven, still stood watching him. Dean reached back to let Logan pull him to a stand.

"I need to hit the cafeteria. Either of you interested in dessert?" he asked.

"This whole building is really safe?" Sarah asked. "From ghosts and those dark things? Everything?"

"Everything we could think of," Dean promised. "This whole campus is probably the safest place in the world from the supernatural."

"But how can you know that?" Sarah demanded.

"It's my job," Dean replied. "Tell you what. Come down to the cafeteria and I'll answer any question you want while I eat. I'm starved." He spun on his heel to march away, his hunger pangs so intense he no longer cared if anyone came along. It was a force of willpower not to run to the cafeteria.

There were only a few stragglers left in the cafeteria when Dean walked in. He filled a tray, double and triple helpings of everything. When he came out of line with his tray Logan caught his eye, waving at him from the far corner. About three kids sat with Logan and they all had dessert. Dean joined them quickly, his fork in motion before his ass hit the bench seat.

"Gonna have-ta wait a few minutes," Logan told the kids. "Cain't interrupt while Hunter's eatin'."

Dean rolled his eyes but he kept eating. About halfway through his meal he motioned for Logan to start talking.

"Sarah here is the one who called," Logan said. "She's the teek I met when we was lookin' for the Drake brat."

Dean nodded. It looked like Logan still hadn't given up that grudge against Bobby Drake for running away from school.

"Tell 'im what you told me about Steven," Logan said to the girl.

Sarah sat up straighter, poise and confidence beyond her years. "I'd been living at the theater for a few months when Joey arrived. He was a natural leader and made us all feel protected."

Steven, sitting next to her, made a disgusted noise. Sarah patted his arm.

"Steven didn't like Joey. One night he told me that there was a darkness in Joey. The next morning Steven was gone and Joey warned us to stay away from him, that poor Steven was nothing but trouble," she said, her hand gripping the boy's arm tightly.

"Wha' 'appened?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food.

"I left," Steven said in a small voice. "Joey said if I stayed I just wouldn't wake up one morning."

"After Logan came and removed the darkness from Joey we realized Steven had been right," Sarah continued. "Joey's name wasn't even Joey, it was William. William claimed he had no idea where he was or why. One phone call was all it took for the police to pick him up and take him home." She sighed. "The rest of us spent days searching for Steven." Sarah gave the boy a sad look. "We finally found him living in a water drain pipe."

She placed a comforting arm around the thin boy's shoulders. "Since then, we have all done our best to look after Steven. In return, Steven tells us if there is a darkness inside someone. Or if there are ghosts."

"Run into any ghosts?" Dean asked Steven directly.

Steven nodded, looking down at the table. "A couple."

"What happened when you did?" Dean asked.

A shudder and a sharp spike of fear ran through the kid. "They attacked me," he whispered.

Actually, that fit in perfectly with what he and Libby had talked about during their trip.

"Hey, Professor Hunter!" Bobby Drake's voice sounded from behind him. Dean turned to flash one of his favorite students a grin. "I didn't know you were back." He sat next to Dean. "Man, am I glad. Kurt's been reading from one of those demon books in the library and ruining everyone's appetites. I don't think I've been able to eat lunch in three days."

Dean chuckled and nodded. "We'll be back on track tomorrow," he promised. "It looks like I'll have a new class too."

"Hey," Bobby greeted the other kids.

"Me an' Summers was talkin'," Logan said, "and we figure at least at first, all the new kids'll be in the same classes. When they get caught up on demons and things, we c'n split 'em up into their grades."

Dean shrugged. Grade level classes didn't affect his so he didn't really care.

"Hunter?" Sarah asked in her clear, too adult voice. "What kind of mutant are you? And I am curious about Bobby as well since he and Steven are supposed to be roommates now."

Dean gave Bobby a nod to go first. Bobby touched a finger against the side of Sarah's glass of milk. Frost crept out from the point radially. Within seconds, the entire glass was frosted over and the milk inside frozen.

"We think ice may be a natural defense against demons," Dean explained as Bobby pulled his hand away. "Bobby seems immune to possession."

A loud breath of relief came from Steven.

"And you?" Sarah demanded.

Dean looked her in those almost eerie translucent green eyes. "I can change the way people feel and think about things."

She frowned. "That doesn't sound terribly useful."

"It's a pain in the ass," he agreed causing all of the kids, including Bobby, to laugh at him.

"Th' other kids didn't seem ta mind," Logan interjected. "They was all havin' a good time when we left."

Sarah gave him a suspicious glare. "I was feeling more comfortable after you came to the rec room."

"There ya go," Logan stated. "If'n you're real nice, he might even make it so you don't have no bad dreams tanight."

Dean shot his friend a cutting glare. "Dude, I have no idea if I can do something like that. Knock it off."

"Have ya tried?" Logan prodded, to which he rolled his eyes.

"No experiments," Steven muttered at the table, more fear leaking out in a sour lemon flavor.

Dean gave Logan a triumphant look. "Nobody likes being a lab rat."

"Like we all got a choice," Logan replied with a grunt.

"Does anyone in your group have particularly bad dreams?" Dean asked, ignoring Logan's comment. "We can put down some extra protections in their rooms."

"Steven does," Sarah replied for him. "Horrible dreams. I am hoping Bobby will be understanding if Steven wakes him up."

Bobby shrugged and waved a hand in the air, like it would be nothing new. "Besides, our room already has the extra protections. You noticed those symbols painted on the floor?"

Steven lifted his gaze to look at Bobby for a moment before he nodded.

"That's what they're for," Bobby informed his new roommate. "They've really cut down on my nightmares."

"Let me know if there's anyone else," Dean said, standing. "I'm going to hit the shower and then go to bed if nobody needs me. Long trip." He stifled a yawn and stretched.

"See ya in the mornin', kid," Logan said with a nod at the kids, meaning he'd look after them.

"Night." Dean gave Bobby's shoulder a squeeze as he passed.

* * *

Bobby showed Steven all of the extra protections Professor Hunter and the other teachers had put into their room.

"What's with the window?" Steven asked, pointing at the painted over glass.

Bobby frowned at it for a moment, wondering if he should tell this kid the whole truth. "You know how you see ghosts and things?" he asked.

Steven nodded slowly.

"One day when I looked out there, I thought I saw the man from my nightmares, the man with yellow eyes, standing across the street." A chill settled into his skin at the thought. "That's when I painted over the window."

Steven stared at the white painted glass for a long moment. "You have nightmares about a man with yellow eyes?" he asked softly.

Bobby sat on his bed with a large bounce. "Most of us do. The adults think the man with yellow eyes is a demon who targets mutant kids. They just don't know why."

"Why would be nice to know," Steven replied, moving slowly to sit on the other bed facing Bobby, his gaze still downcast.

"If anybody can figure it out, Professor Hunter can," Bobby stated firmly. It was the only thought that let him sleep at least part of the night.

Steven's dark eyes lifted to actually meet Bobby's gaze. "You sound pretty sure."

Bobby gripped his mattress with both hands. "I am," he replied. "Professor Hunter knows what he's doing. He's good."

"Good," Steven replied in a soft voice. "It would be nice to sleep for a change. Without the man with the yellow eyes coming in my dreams."

Bobby nodded in agreement. "That's the plan. So has Miss Munroe come by to get your clothes sizes?"

His answer was a knock on their door and Miss Munroe's voice coming in from the hall.

"We can talk more later?" Steven asked with a fearful look at the door.

"Sure," Bobby replied with a shrug. "I have a feeling you sleep even less than I do. At least now I'll have someone to talk to in the middle of the night."

Steven maintained steady eye contact before answering the door and Bobby figured that they might be able to actually become friends. If this kid could really see ghosts and tell when people were possessed, then the supernatural monsters would targeting Steven even more than him. All Bobby had was natural self-defense. This kid could point out the monsters for others to destroy. Yeah, Steven definitely out-ranked him. Thank God.


	83. Chapter 83:Spring Break Sam Arrives

My apologies for the long delay in updating. Yes, Real Life has not been kind lately, however things are better now. Thanks for all of the kind PMs of concern, I really do appreciate it. I'm WAY behind in all of my review replies and PM replies. My apologies again. You may take out the wet noodles and let the beatings begin!

NaNoWriMo is November. I have enough chapters for this fic written to post once a week through November. So maybe we're back on track!

**Chapter 83: Spring Break – Sam Arrives**

"Sam, why aren't we going up to your brother's school?" Jess asked as she sat in the passenger seat of their rental car.

"Because he doesn't know we're here yet," Sam replied, pulling the driver's door closed.

"And why is that?" she continued. He had known he would not be able to put this off forever.

Sam bought a few precious seconds to think as he started up the rental. "Well, first off, I wanted to take a look around without him. And second, I don't want to give him time to come up with another excuse for you not to come with me tomorrow."

"Not to come with you?" He felt Jess turn to glare at him. "Your brother doesn't know I'm coming with you?"

"Nope," Sam replied, not feeling bad about it in the least. "You told me not to argue with him, so I didn't."

"I didn't mean not to tell him I was coming!" she snapped.

"If I had told him, there would have been an argument," Sam promised, "so I didn't say anything. I didn't say you weren't coming either."

Jess rolled her eyes and let out a huffy breath. "God, Sam. Sometimes it's really obvious you're the younger brother."

He shot her a suspicious glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Her hands spread out in the air in front of her. "This! This sounds exactly like something my little brother would pull!"

"I'm not 'pulling' anything," he argued. "I'm just making sure this visit works out exactly the way I want it to."

"Regardless of how it affects your brother?" she asked.

Sam waved off the reprimand. "You don't know Dean. It'll be fine. I'll bet he acts like he already knew you'd be coming."

"That is so odd," she muttered, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

"What's odd?" Sam asked, one hand snaking across the seat to give her thigh a squeeze. He never believed she would really be upset over such a little thing.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Sam, but I can't figure you and your brother out sometimes," Jess replied with a sigh. "I mean one minute you're talking about what a womanizing jerk Dean is and then in the next breath you act like he's above behaving in a small or petty manner, like he's this amazingly forgiving and gracious person. I wish you'd make up your mind."

"Well...he's..." Sam shrugged as he drove along the streets of this pretty little town. "He's both."

"How is that possible?" Jess wanted to know.

Sam tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he tried to come up with a good way to explain his big brother. "Okay, I think I have a story that might explain it. When I was fourteen Dad sent us to stay with a friend of his for about a month. His friend took us, uh, camping. Anyway, while we were camping, this huge...bear...attacked us. And Jess, I mean this thing was huge! Its claws were over two feet long."

"A bear?" Jess asked, sounding a bit leery like he might be lying. So it was his first and only wendigo. So what? A bear as an explanation should work fine, Professor Melton bought it.

"Yes. A bear," he replied firmly. "Don't ask me what kind except it was really hungry and we must've looked appetizing. This thing came charging out of the woods right at me, claws out, mouth open, I think it would've eaten me on the spot if it hadn't been for Dean."

"What could he do against a bear?" she demanded.

"Believe it or not," Sam said with a chuckle, "Dean tackled it. As fast as it was moving I couldn't believe he was able to touch it, but he knocked it away from me. The next few minutes were kind of a blur because I was knocked into the trees, Dean was down, and Dad's friend was trying to lure it into the trap we'd made."

"Trap?" Jess interrupted. "Why did you make a trap? Don't tell me you were there looking for the bear?"

Whoops. Sam cast a guilty glance to the side as his mind raced for a good cover story. "Uh, yeah, actually. That's the business Dad's friend was in. He trapped and destroyed dangerous animals."

"And he took a fourteen year old boy on one of his hunts?" she demanded. "Was he insane?"

"Probably," Sam admitted, "but Dad thought it would be a good learning experience for us."

"Oh, I don't want to touch that one," she muttered. "Go on. What happened that shows what a wonderful jerk Dean is?"

"Okay, so Dean saved my life, right?" Sam continued. "He broke four ribs and was basically just beat to hell from doing it, but he saved my life. What do you think the first thing he did was when we went back to the house?"

"Go to the hospital," Jess suggested.

Sam snorted. Right. As if. Like Dean even needed any pain killers after a few days. By the time he was fourteen, broken ribs had become a specialty. "The whole ride back to the house I was on this adrenaline high. All I could talk about was how crazy and amazing Dean was tackling that, uh, bear. I couldn't wait to tell Dad all about it. In detail."

"I'll bet," she murmured, waving one hand at him to get on with it already.

"When I took a shower the next morning, my shampoo smelled funny," Sam recalled. "I called out to Dean to see if he'd noticed and he shouted back that it was fine for him. That should've tipped me off."

"What was wrong with the shampoo?" Jess asked, appearing more interested now than during the description of the 'bear' attack.

"Nair." Sam shook his head. "I was bald for weeks. It took forever just to grow my hair as long as Dean's."

She laughed, a genuine joyful sound filling the car. "I'll bet that stopped the hero-worship."

"Oh, I could've killed that jerk," Sam admitted. "After that, it was no holds barred pranking. I super-glued the toilet seat..." Her comment penetrated into the rational part of his brain. "Say that again."

"Say what again?" Jess shook with uncontrolled giggling.

"What you just said," he insisted. "What did it stop?"

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her giggling subsiding into a huge grin on her face. "I said, I'll bet making you bald stopped the hero-worship."

"I never thought of that," he said to himself. "And yeah, it did. After that... After that I treated him the way I usually treated him. Not special, just my brother. Like I expected him to do what he did."

"Must've been the way he wanted it, too," Jess added. "Except for the whole 'hunting a killer bear' part, that was a great story. Did you make that part up?"

Sam shook his head. "I wish." He pulled into the parking area for a motel. "One room, right? Cost cutting measures?"

Another chuckle erupted from Jess. "Baby, call it whatever you want."

He peered deep into her dazzling blue eyes. "I don't suppose you brought that sexy dress? I think I spotted a nightclub down the road. We could make a night of it."

"Last hurrah before your brother drops the bad news?" Jess asked with a calculating look. "Thought so," she said when he wouldn't answer. "Sure. And of course I brought the sexy dress. I've met your brother."

"Cute." He shook his head at her. "You know that's just begging to be left in the car, right?"

Jess leaned in close enough Sam could feel her breath on his lips. "Try it. I won't be the one begging."

"We could skip the club?" Sam suggested hopefully, causing her smile to reappear.

"We'll make a night of it," Jess insisted. "Now go get us a room so I can change." She gave him a push in the arm. "And hurry up, I'm hungry."

–

* * *

It was not a typical nightclub, this one had a blues theme and a real live band who wasn't half-bad. Sam and Jess were led to a table away from the small dance floor, almost against the far wall.

"Sorry about the seating, folks," the host said as he showed them the table. "Some of our regulars are bringing in a large party and requested tables by the floor. Will this be all right? If not, I have some with a view out of the front windows, but you can't see the dance floor from there."

Sam glanced over at Jess who shrugged, leaving it up to him. "We'll stay here," Sam replied to the host.

"I'll send your server right over," the host promised before walking away.

"Good service," Jess commented as Sam held out her chair.

"I wonder if Dean ever comes here," Sam commented as he sat next to her. "He loves music. This looks like his kind of place."

"Is that why you picked it?" she asked.

Sam sighed and shot her a reprimanding look. "I thought we were taking the night off, doc."

"All right, all right," Jess replied, a bright smile appearing on her beautiful face. She leaned against the side of his chest and Sam wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The band was playing a soft, smooth tune Sam did not recognize but it set a relaxed atmosphere. Their server appeared to take their drink orders. On his way to the bar, he stopped by the tables near the dance floor and counted the chairs. After dragging two more to the tables, he went to place their order.

"Must be a big group," Sam observed.

"We are going to dance," Jess insisted, one hand tugging at the front of his shirt. "You're not going to try ducking it this time?"

He was so grateful she was even here with him, come to share Dean's bad news and support him through it, Sam pressed a kiss against her temple before answering. "Better believe it."

Jess gave him one of those blinding smiles that had first convinced him to ask her out before leaning her head against him again. The weight of her body leaning on his was a greater comfort than all of his research on human metabolism and related genetic conditions. Their drinks arrived along with menus. Sam held the menu in one hand for both of them.

People began to filter into the club. Mostly couples arrived taking seats at various tables, leaving the row by the dance floor open. It struck Sam as unusual for a place like this, more of a nightclub than restaurant, to hold tables.

"Must be some special regulars," Jess said, reaching for her frozen drink.

"That's what I was thinking," Sam replied.

The front door flew open with a burst of noisy voices, a large crowd arriving. "Must be them," he murmured close to her ear. Jess nodded, sipping at her drink.

Sam took a swallow of his frosty beer as he watched the arriving party. There were some wild hairstyles, from shock white to black to purple hair colors in almost any variety of styles. It wasn't until he spotted the man wearing amber colored sunglasses indoors that Sam realized where this group must be from.

"No way," he muttered, poking Jess in the side. "Recognize him?" Sam pointed out Shades.

Jess frowned and shook her head. "No. From where?"

"Your parents' house," he hissed at her. "That's the so-called headmaster."

Jess shot him an incredulous look. "But he's wearing sunglasses inside."

Sam returned the look. "He was then too."

Jess gave him a deep, disapproving frown. "No he wasn't. I'm sure I would have noticed something like that."

Sam opened his mouth to argue when Dean appeared from the center of the group. He led a young woman over to one of the tables at the edge of the dance floor and pulled out a chair. Her hair was dark blond and pulled back into a severe knot on the back of her head. Black plastic framed glasses hung from a beaded chain around her neck. Her dress was long and flowing, light pink background with large print roses all over it.

He felt Jess' hand shoving his jaw closed, the first sign that it had been hanging open.

"Wow," Jess said in an undertone. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"Beautiful?" Sam echoed, dragging his eyes from the surreal sight to his gorgeous girlfriend. "Are you crazy? She looks like...like..." There were no words to describe it. His big college vocabulary fell short of being capable of describing the sight in front of them.

"A supermodel," Jess stated. Then she looked down at herself and pulled at the bodice of her super-sexy dress. "I should've bought a new dress."

"You're gorgeous," Sam snapped. "There is nothing wrong with the way you look. That woman actually does look like a librarian." He stared for a moment taking in her dress and the way she held herself, head high and proud. "And a strict one."

The librarian gave Dean a bright engaging smile as he sat next to her, obviously meaning Dean wouldn't be spending any of the night alone. At least that part was typical. But her? She seemed all wrong for him. What were they doing together?

Their server rushed over to take their food order, explaining that he would be waiting on the large party as well and if he didn't place their order now they would have to wait for a while. Sam and Jess went with the server's suggestion for burgers. Then he hurried over to the party with Dean to take drink orders.

A song with a good beat, one that sounded rather familiar but Sam couldn't put a name to it, filled the club. Sam watched his brother turn to the somber woman next to him. She smiled again, the act softening her harsh features and giving her an approachable appearance. Dean took her hand to lead her out on the dance floor.

"She's terrible," Sam muttered to Jess after watching them dance for a few moments.

Jess rolled her eyes. "You haven't even met her yet, Sam. Why do you dislike her so much?"

Sam glanced over, surprised. "I don't dislike her. Like you said, I haven't even met her."

Jess fished the sliver of fruit off the top of her drink. "Baby, you can't stand her. I've never heard you say a good thing about your brother's girlfriend. It's like you're jealous." Her eyes lit up and her gaze landed heavily on him. "Are you?"

"Night off," Sam snapped, reminding her of her promise not to analyze him tonight.

She popped the fruit in her mouth with a shrug. "I'm just saying..."

Yeah, yeah. He knew what she was saying. It was crap.

His gaze was drawn back to the dance floor and the image of his brother and some strict librarian trying to dance together. It would be laughable if it weren't so bizarre. Typically when Dean danced with some chick he was all over her. He once referred to dancing as the appetizer course. If the appetizer was really good he was guaranteed a main course and, if there was time, maybe even dessert. Instead of pressing the librarian tight against his body, hands everywhere she would let him touch in public, they danced with real space between them. Dean moved in perfect rhythm to the music. The librarian didn't. She stumbled twice and laughed at herself, one hand covering her face in embarrassment. Dean pulled her hand away from her face and put it on his shoulder. Still not plastering their bodies together, Dean place his hands on her hips and helped her sway in time to the beat.

Sam thought he might be sick.

"They look so sweet together," Jess said. "We are going to join them at some point, right? I mean, you're not planning on sneaking out the back, are you?"

He scowled at the image of Dean and the strict librarian trying to dance together and they stopped. Slowly Dean turned around, eyes narrowed and searching. Oh, crap. Sam groaned and slumped in his seat as his brother's gaze landed on him. Jess lifted a hand to wave at them.

Busted.

–

* * *

When he saw Sam sitting against the wall watching them, Dean knew what that acrid taste on the back of his tongue like a cross between lemons and motor oil was. Classic Sam Bitchface.

With a sigh of resignation, he dropped his hands from Libby's hips and turned to face his brother. Libby's hand slipped into his and her unasked questions pummeled him in the form of waves of cotton-candy flavored curiosity.

"Come on," he shouted over the music as he tugged her hand. Libby flashed a grin and followed him off the dance floor to where Sam and Jess were sitting. The curiosity was stronger but Libby seemed trusting and content to follow his lead. What did he do to deserve her?

Standing at the side of Sam's table, Dean turned to Libby. "Lib? This is my brother, Sam. Sam, meet Libby."

The lemon and motor oil taste grew stronger even as a fake smile spread across Sam's face. Dean couldn't stop his eyes from rolling. Show up a day early, unannounced, and have the nerve to be an ass about it? He popped Sam in the shoulder, a warning to behave.

Sam chuckled and held both hands in the air, the fake smile growing wider. Then Sam turned on the charm and held out a hand to Libby. "So you're Libby? It's great to finally meet you. I've heard a lot of wonderful things about you."

Libby shook his hand, a genuine smile on her face and a flash flood of surprise and happiness. "You're Sam? Oh my goodness! I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow!" She motioned to Dean for a chair. Clearly they were joining Sam and Jess.

Dean swung around to look for empty chairs but the club was pretty packed. When he glanced back at their tables he saw Summers heading for them carrying a chair in each hand. For such a stiff he could be all right sometimes. Dean met him halfway.

"Saw your brother!" he shouted, handing over the chairs. "Bring him over later?"

Dean nodded as he took the chairs. "Watch the shades!" he warned. "I have a feeling I'm going to be distracted."

Summers nodded before returning to the party. Dean carried the chairs over to Sam's table. Libby and Jess were seated together chatting and Sam stood to the side waiting for him. He thrust a chair at Sam.

"You're early," he accused, placing his chair next to Libby's.

The sound of Sam's chair hitting the floor was lost in the music and raucous voices in the club. Sam shrugged at him and held out a hand.

"So sue me," Sam replied, his hand making small movements for Dean to shake it.

Tart and tangy irritation from both Sam and Libby filled his mouth. There was only one way to get rid of it. Dean grasped the hand in front of him, in reality relieved to see his brother here and looking well. His left hand lifted to hold his brother by the shoulder, which was the moment Dean realized exactly how emotionally unbalanced Sam was. This was far worse than he had been at New Year's. The energy was in all the wrong places. A tingling sensation traveled from the spot between his shoulderblades, down his arms and through his hands, which were both in physical contact with his brother. Without losing much of his own energy, Dean managed to realign Sam's emotions, at least close to what they should have been. When he released his brother he knew he would have to do this again tomorrow and maybe the next day as well.

"You're too uptight," Dean accused, shoving his brother at the other empty chair. "Need to learn to relax."

"Tell me about it!" Jess joined their conversation with a laugh.

Libby leaned in to speak directly into his ear. "Are you all right?"

Dean nodded at her with a questioning look.

"You and your brother zoned out for a minute," she explained, her voice almost lost in the club noises.

They had? With a suspicious glance at Sam, he assured her, "It's fine." Knowing Libby, it would be the topic of conversation on the ride home. She probably already had a theory.

"What brought you in early?" Libby asked in a loud voice to be heard over the music. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."

Jess rolled her eyes and waved one hand in Sam's direction. "Blame him. He just couldn't wait one more day. We spent all morning at the airport on stand-by to see if we could catch an earlier flight." She shot Sam a hard look. "I thought he'd called."

Sam shrugged off the reprimand. Dean almost laughed, it was the exact same way Sam shrugged him and Dad off. Why did little brothers have to be such a pain?

"Dean!" the voice of their server was barely audible. "What are you doing over here?"

Dean motioned to Sam. "This is my brother. We'll eat with them."

The server, a guy about his age whose name Dean could never remember, nodded and pulled out his order pad. He took Dean and Libby's food order then rushed off to turn it in in the hopes it would be ready at about the same time as Sam and Jess' dinner.

"Good service," Sam commented. The lemons-and-motor-oil taste wasn't gone but it was better. Sam leaned toward Libby, his forearms on the table. "You're really a librarian? I thought Dean was kidding."

Libby gave his brother a good natured smile as her left hand landed on top of his right and gave it a squeeze. "Dean didn't tell you how we met?"

For a split second Dean thought Libby might be upset at him for it, then he realized it was her sneaky way of asking his brother if Sam had bothered to inquire about how they met. Oh, Sam had no idea who he was up against here.

"Uh, no," Sam replied with a shake of his head. "I don't think it came up."

Libby rested her cheek against her fist and looked to Jess, who sat on her other side. "So how did you two meet?"

Jess smiled, waves of joy and happiness flowing from her. Dean could see exactly why Sam was dating her, despite her whacked-out family. "We have a class together and Sam offered to help me out in my English class. Then he asked me out for coffee and, well..." She shrugged but the waves grew stronger. "We've been dating ever since. How about you two?"

Finally someone asked. Strong prickly irritation had been coming from Libby since Sam admitted to not asking. She squeezed his hand again. "Dean comes to my library every day to prepare his class lectures and handouts." Her gaze flicked to him and those warm, light, sweet emotions washed over him. "And he asked for my help with his research."

"That I believe," Sam muttered, the lemon taste growing more bitter.

Dean kicked out his left foot, catching Sam's shin. Sam made a nasty face, matching his current emotional state. What the hell was wrong with the kid? Sam really should be more in control of his emotions. It reminded him of how Sam was whenever he left his brother and father alone too long. It usually took days to reset Sam's emotions after...oh, crap.

His gaze flicked over his brother again. Maybe Sam never learned to control his own emotions? Because Dean always did it for him? Or was it worse than that? He doubted he had ever seen anyone this far out of whack emotionally, and that included Sam after going a few rounds with Dad. Maybe Hank would figure it out tomorrow.

Dean plastered a grin on his face and gripped her hand in his. "You have to see her library," he said, pitching his voice to be heard over the music. "It's amazing!"

"Yeah?" Sam glanced between them and shrugged. "How?"

Dean leaned over so Sam would hear what he had to say. "Best collection of books on the supernatural you ever saw."

Sam turned to talk directly into his ear. "Bullshit."

Dean met his gaze. "Bobby was impressed." He sat upright, pulled his hand out from under Libby's so he could wrap his arm over her shoulders. She leaned into him, her irritation fading as she chatted with Jess.

"Oh, I know some wonderful books on psychology," Libby was telling Jess. "It sounds like your professor is basing your course on one that has been out of print for a while now. Our library has a copy if you'd like to see it."

"I wish I could buy it," Jess laughed.

"I can't wait to show you two the library tomorrow," Libby continued, small waves of excitement flowing from her. "It's basically been my life for the past couple of years."

Sam-irritation and the taste of lemons-and-motor-oil followed Libby's statement. Oh, what the hell was wrong with his little brother? Couldn't he date a girl with a brain?

"Let's dance," Dean suggested, tugging at Libby's shoulders.

Her face lit up. "Great!" She turned back to Jess. "I know I'm not very good, but it's so much fun." She lifted one hand in the air for Dean to take to help pull her to her feet, which he did.

Once they threaded their way through the crowd and made it on to the dance floor, Libby stood on tiptoe to shout in his ear. "You're upset!"

"Sam's being an ass," he shouted back.

"Is it me?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the band a few feet away.

Dean shook his head and pulled her in close, pressing his cheek against hers. Being like this, with so much physical contact, had a grounding effect on his emotional state. Calm washed over him and Dean felt like he could handle anything, literally anything. He even felt like he could face down some of those purifier bastards.

Libby tapped his shoulder making him open his eyes, which he hadn't realized were closed, and look up. Sam and Jess danced near them. Sam gave him a small nod when their eyes met. Dean returned the nod before closing his eyes and sinking back into Libby's sweet light emotions. How the hell was he supposed to tell his brother about being a mutant with this attitude of Sam's? Not to mention the girlfriend in tow?

"Pain in my ass," he mumbled, swaying with Libby against the beat of the music.

She pulled back until he looked her in her pretty eyes. "It's going to work out," Libby assured him. "We'll deal with it. Okay?"

"Dean!" They both turned towards the new voice. Their waiter pointed at Sam's table, which had plates of burgers waiting for them. In one smooth movement, Dean spun around and grabbed Libby by the hand to rush back to the table. He pushed people aside, physically and by making them want to move out of his way.

Dropping Libby's hand at the table, Dean gleefully rubbed his hands together as he sat in front of his plate. "If they don't notice, I'm eating Sam's," he promised her.

Libby laughed and shook her head at him, not bothering to answer. Then she checked his pocket. Damn, no hair pins. She gave him a funny look.

"I forgot," he admitted sheepishly. In an attempt to make up for it, Dean stole one the first time she looked down at her plate.

He was half finished with his burger when Sam and Jess returned to the table.

"You could have said something," Sam complained, sitting next to him.

With his cheeks bulging, Dean rolled his eyes. He started to tell Sam to be a little more observant, but Sam waved him off.

"Not now, give me the excuse later," Sam said, the lemons-and-motor-oil taste growing strong again as he sat next to Dean. "Typical big brother, right?" he joked to Jess, casting glances at Libby as if to include her. Dean had his doubts.

"I'm an only child," Libby replied with a disarming smile. "I wouldn't know." She pointed to Sam's plate. "But I do know if you waited any longer, there probably wouldn't be anything to come back for."

Dean laughed through his burger and he could almost smell the oil drenched lemons. He nodded in agreement as he chewed. Jess was harder to read, mainly because he was screening out all the strangers in the club and he didn't have a real connection with her, but she chuckled too.

Libby turned to glance behind them at the dance floor and Dean seized the opportunity to snatch two hair pins. If her hair wasn't down before they left, he would seriously be in the dog house. Sam gave him a funny look when he was caught slipping the pins on to his shirt pocket. He swallowed to clear his mouth.

"She keeps count," he told Sam, patting his pocket.

"Why?" Sam demanded, tart and bitter lemons-and-motor-oil coating Dean's tongue.

He dropped the rest of his burger on his plate. "You know, this tastes terrible."

"Mine is fine," Libby said, giving him a quizzical look, her familiar cotton-candy curiosity almost strong enough to push back the flavor of Sam's nasty bitchface.

"I can't eat?" Dean demanded of his burger. He lifted his gaze to glare at his brother. "That's it. We're talkin'." He stood, making an impatient motion with one hand. "Move it."


	84. Chapter 84: Dealing With Sam

**Chapter 84: Dealing With Sam**

Sam followed his big brother out of the club through the back door. He should have seen this coming. Jess warned him to be on his best behavior, so did Doc Melton. But would he listen? Oh, no. Not him. He could almost see the steam billowing out of Dean's ears. When they hit the quieter alley behind the club, Sam figured the ass chewing would begin.

Dean spun to face him, hands clenched at his sides. "You didn't call her a stripper," he growled, eyes hard and angry, "but damn, Sam! Can you be any more of an asshole?"

"What?" Sam demanded, hands spread wide in front of him. "What did I do? I didn't say a damn thing, Dean." Which was true, of course.

Dean groaned, slamming one hand against his forehead. "Jesus, Sam! It's not what you said!" His brother started pacing in front of him. "What the hell did Libby ever do to piss you off like this?"

"You can tell?" Sam asked, astonished, forgetting to deny everything.

"That's it." Dean shook his head, one hand pushing Sam in the chest until his back pressed against the wall. "You are totally out of control. I don't know why you never learned to control your own damn emotions, but if you're going to make me do it for you, fine." Both hands gripped his shoulders, pinning him to the wall.

Sam kind of blanked out. All he could see was his brother glaring at him. It was like nothing else in the whole world existed except disapproving green eyes. Then all of the anger seeped down deep, going back into hiding, leaving him feeling rather hollow, emotionless. Sam blinked slowly, not comprehending what was happening to him or why.

Dean backed up, a strange look on his face. "I don't know what the hell caused that," he said in a soft, gruff voice, "but I sure intend to find out. Feel better?"

Sam nodded. It took a moment, but the hollowness filled with the kind of happiness that seeing his big brother always brought. "What did you do?" he managed to ask, confusion still whirling in his mind.

"I'll tell you all about it. Tomorrow." Dean clasped him on the shoulder. "Tonight we are out with our girlfriends having a good time." He prodded Sam in the chest with one finger. "And you are going to like Libby if I have to beat it into you."

"I just can't believe you're dating a real librarian," Sam protested. "I mean, what is up with that? And living in one place? I thought you couldn't stand to stay anywhere more than a couple of weeks?"

"Times change," Dean told him with a shrug. The hand on his shoulder shifted up to grasp him by the back of the neck and give a gentle squeeze. Sam could literally feel every good feeling from his childhood, from every good time he and Dean had ever had, run rampant in his body.

"People change," Dean continued with a sigh. His other hand patted Sam on the chest. "Come on, kid. There are beautiful women waiting on us."

The door to the club swung open, music and a cacophony of voices, talking and laughing, spilled into the alley.

"Kid? You out here?" a deep gruff voice demanded.

Dean's eyes rolled and his hands dropped to his sides. "We're here, Logan." He stepped away, waving a hand at Sam. "Just having a quick talk with my little brother. You mind?"

"I might," Logan said, stepping out. He glanced both ways down the alley as he tucked a cigar in the corner of his mouth.

"Does he ever smoke those?" Sam asked.

"Smokin's bad for ya," Logan replied. "Come back in. Libby's startin' ta give me the evil eye."

"See?" Sam demanded. "I'm not the only one who has a problem with her."

Logan spun on him so fast all he saw was a blur. Once again he was pinned to the wall, an unlit cigar stuck in his face. "What makes ya think I don't get along with Libby, punk?"

"Easy, Logan," Dean's voice came from behind. Soon big brother inserted himself between the two of them, pushing Sam and Logan apart. "I don't think Sam really meant anything by it." He gave Sam that funny look. "But we'll have to ask Hank to be sure."

"You got ta be kiddin'," Logan protested with a growl. Dean shrugged, not answering. Logan glared at Sam. "Brats. I'm always havin' ta deal with brats."

"You're really worried about smoking being bad for you?" Dean asked, inclining his head toward the door. One hand grabbed Sam by the shirt and pulled him along.

"Not for me. You never heard of second hand smoke?" Logan demanded, yanking the door open.

Dean gave Sam a look he couldn't quite interpret before passing by Logan into the club. Logan stuck an arm out to stop him.

"You go easy on your brother," Logan said in an undertone. "This ain't exactly been a cakewalk for 'im." His arm dropped and he jerked his head meaning for Sam to go inside.

Dean made weird friends. Of course, he always had, but this really proved Sam's point. Sam should give Bobby a call to see what he made of Logan. Then again, if he called Bobby, he would probably be chewed out for not calling since New Year's. Nah, forget it. Besides, it wasn't all that important.

Sam followed his big brother, always following in Dean's footsteps, back to the table. He slid into his chair and noticed he was sitting a lot closer to Dean than Jess. Scooting to the side, Sam moved his chair closer to his girlfriend, where he could put his arm around her if he wanted. That was better. When he glanced across the table, Dean gave him a nod of approval. Sam grinned, feeling lighter and happier than he had since, well, New Year's. It was amazing what just being around Dean, seeing his brother looking well and healthy, did for him.

He noticed Dean's girlfriend whispering in his brother's ear and Dean kept shaking his head. At first it was funny, but then it looked like she really was upset. Feeling a little guilty, because this was clearly about Dean taking him out back, Sam decided to try helping out. He leaned across the table.

"We were just talking," Sam assured her. He waved between himself and Dean. "It's a brother thing."

Dean actually smiled at him for the first time since New Year's. It felt pretty good. "Yeah, a brother thing," Dean chimed in. "See?" he asked her. "He's fine."

She made a terrible face and turned around, looking for something. Dean took a couple more hairpins from that stupid knot on the back of her head. Libby, and the name didn't seem as strange to him now as it had before, waved an arm in the air while Dean rolled his eyes. Sam quirked an eyebrow at his brother, wondering what was wrong with the girlfriend. Dean shrugged and spread his hands helplessly, not as if he didn't know what was going on, but as if he couldn't control it. Probably not, Sam decided as he cast a glance to to beautiful woman at his side. Girlfriends were like that.

"What's wrong?" Jess mouthed at him, then she nodded at Libby. Sam shrugged. He really had no idea, and he was pretty sure if Jess were as aggravated with him as Libby appeared to be with Dean, he wouldn't have any control over it either.

Their waiter pushed through the crowd to Libby and leaned over to listen as she shouted into his ear. He nodded twice before disappearing back into the crowd. Dean gave her a strong look, which she returned with equal strength. Then Sam watched something he had never seen before, he saw his brother melt right before his eyes. A happy smile appeared and Dean wrapped his arm over the girl's shoulders, pulling her in to press a kiss to her temple. She chuckled, her right arm lifting to hug Dean across his chest. She tapped on his shoulder to speak into his ear, after listening Dean nodded.

They stood, their hands clasped. "Come on," he shouted over the music. "You should meet everybody."

Dean led them over to the tables crowded with people, the special party. After seating Libby near Logan, so clearly they got along better than Sam had assumed, Dean walked him and Jess around the table introducing them to everyone. Dean must like making really strange friends. The woman with the shock white hair stood to formally greet them and winked at Dean before retaking her seat. Shades also stood to introduce the red haired woman sitting next to him. She didn't seem to have any trouble hearing over the pounding music and she was so easy to understand despite the noise it made him wonder. A few people had an odd skin color, almost shiny, but Sam decided it had to be an effect of the club lights. The one thing that really made an impression on him, however, was how enthusiastic they all seemed over meeting Dean's little brother, like they really liked Dean.

Even if they were rather odd, it was good to see Dean with real friends. Sam understood how important having friends could be, he was glad his brother was finally experiencing a little piece of normal.

Meeting everyone took damn near forever. When they finally rounded the table and came back around to Libby there was a woman with purple hair sitting next to her. Dean plucked another hairpain, the knot was starting to look dangerously wobbly, as he approached. She introduced them to her friend Julie, who swapped seats with her, placing Julie between her and Logan and allowing Dean to sit with Libby. Sam and Jess discovered two empty chairs next to Dean. Confused, he looked around wondering where the chairs had come from. The extra chairs at his table were gone. All of their drinks were here waiting for them too. The so-called headmaster nodded and lifted a drink to him when Sam's gaze passed over him.

"Thanks," Sam mouthed. Shades nodded, then his attention returned to the stunning red head.

Sam elbowed his brother in the ribs. Dean leaned in with a questioning expression.

"Those two?" Sam asked, nodding at Shades and the red head.

Dean placed his mouth near Sam's ear. "They think it's a secret."

Sam laughed and reached for his beer. The only way for those two to be any more obvious would be if they made out in public. Jess prodded him in the side.

"What's so funny?" she asked directly in his ear.

Sam nodded at the couple seated a little ways down from them. "They don't think anyone knows."

She looked searchingly before turning back to him. "Knows what?"

Sam spoke directly in her ear. "That they're dating."

"Headmaster?" she asked. Sam nodded. She motioned for him to lean his ear towards her again. "How do you know?"

Sam gave her an incredulous look. "It's obvious."

Jess peered down the table again before shrugging and leaning into him. Sam automatically wrapped his arm over her shoulders. Man, he felt better right now than he had in ages. His mind began to wonder if there was some way to talk Dean into moving out to the west coast. If one private school would hire him, surely another would too. Then he laughed at himself, shocked beyond belief that the very idea had come to him.

"Dude!" Dean shouted at him. "What?"

Sam shook off the question, too embarrassed to admit what he had been thinking. This had to be a strange school to hire Dean, not to mention that headmaster. There couldn't be another one like it anywhere, even on the west coast.

The waiter returned with a large ice cream sundae which he placed in front of Dean. Dean offered one of his extra spoons to Libby but she refused, giving him that look again. He turned to offer the extra spoons to Sam and Jess, but at the expression Libby was sporting neither of them dared to take one. Clearly not disappointed, Dean dug into his dessert with enthusiasm, polishing it off in record time. Yep, that was his big brother all right.

They closed the place down, drinking beer and dancing all night. When the people who worked there finally kicked their whole party out, all of the noise from the club spilled out into the parking lot with them, loud happy voices and scattered conversation.

"In the morning?" Sam asked, one hand clamped firmly on Jess' shoulder, the other outstretched to shake his brother's hand.

Dean, in a similar position with his girlfriend Libby, grasped Sam's offered hand and shook. "Nine, but if you come earlier I'll give you two a full tour."

"We'll be early," Jess promised for them. "I had a wonderful time tonight, Dean. And Libby, it was great to finally meet you."

"You too," Libby replied smiling. She wasn't bad looking when she smiled, especially with her hair down, hanging loosely past her shoulders. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Sam. Dean talks about you all the time."

For a brief second Sam considered lying, wanting to tell her that he hadn't even known his brother was dating someone. The flare of nasty feelings subsided when Dean's eyebrow rose and he gave Sam an expectant look.

"Same here," he said instead. "At least half of each letter Dean writes is all about you."

Even in the low light shed by the distant streetlamp he could see her blush as she leaned deeper into Dean's embrace.

"See you in the morning," Dean repeated, turning away and guiding Libby to the Impala, parked at the far end of the parking lot. Sam stood and watched until they were both in the car before taking Jess to their rental.

"I like them," Jess said once they were in the car.

Sam started it up and paused before putting it into reverse. "I think I like her too."

"Good." She kissed him on the cheek. "Dean didn't look like he had bad news to drop on you."

Instantly his good mood vaporized and he scowled. "Oh, yeah." He sighed, staring at the steering wheel, replaying the nuances of the looks shot at him by his brother. Then his brow furrowed as he did it again. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "He might but you're right, he really didn't act like it, did he?"

Jess shook her head. "Well, just in case..." She gave him a coy look. "Maybe we should head for our room? Enjoy the rest of the night?"

Sam shoved the car into gear. "I don't think Dean will blame me one bit for being tired tomorrow." He swung an arm over the back of the seat to look through the rear window before backing out.

"Don't you dare tell him why," Jess chided, sounding rather worried.

Sam gave her a knowing look as he put the car into drive. "Oh, he'll know. Don't make a mistake about that. Dean will know." He shook his head. "I never figured out how, but Dean always knows. He's kind of like Santa that way."

Jess' laugh was loud, enhanced by the amount of beer she'd drunk. "Santa Dean."

Sam chuckled. "You'll see. My brother is one of a kind."

–

* * *

Libby hugged Dean around the chest as he drove them back to the Institute. "Tell me what happened out back."

He sighed, his right hand coming to rest on her back. "The kid's emotions were totally out of whack, Libby. I mean, I've never seen it so bad."

"What do you mean by out of whack?" she asked.

"He was pissed off," Dean said matter of factly. "But I don't think he had a good reason, he was just pissed. If anyone breathed wrong it would have set him off." He rubbed her back, the single source of light and sweet emotions a pleasant change. Being inside the club on a Saturday night for him was like taking a dive into a huge washing machine where every human emotion had been shoved in until it was full to the brim, and then turning it on without a cleaning agent. All of those emotions battered against each other and him, churning wildly. There was a reason he kept close to Libby, their bond helped to keep him grounded. Actually sitting close to Libby, Logan and Sam had provided him with some of the best defense against the sea of raging emotions he had experienced yet. Logan might have a point about them not splitting up when on assignment.

"What did you do out there?" Libby demanded.

"It's hard to explain," Dean said slowly. "Sometimes Sam needs a, uh, reset." He frowned, wondering if that was the best description. "You know how your cell phone will start acting up, and you have to turn it off and pull the battery out? That's what Sam needed."

"You pulled out his emotional batteries?" Libby asked, disbelief in her voice and on her face.

"Basically," Dean replied.

"You can do that?" she asked. "With anybody?"

"No." Dean shuddered to think about trying that with anyone else. "I think I've been doing it for Sam for so long that I never realized what I was doing until recently. And it's never been this bad before." He frowned deeply, old worries about his brother rising to the surface. "It's not like he's been hanging around Dad. Besides, Dad's been on his best behavior lately. At New Year's Sam was a little out of sorts, but not nearly this bad. Maybe it's stress from school?"

"Maybe," Libby said agreeably. "The dessert did help."

It wasn't really a question, he noticed. "Yes, baby." He gave her a little hug and a quick kiss to the top of her head. "It helped."

"You're just saying that," she accused, but those warm sweet emotions were stronger than they had been.

"No, food always helps," he replied with a chuckle. "Right now I'm kind of in the mood for chocolate."

"Chocolate syrup?" she asked hopefully, anticipation with a sharp anxious flavor filling the car.

"Better believe it," Dean said, holding her tight.

"Are we there yet?" Libby demanded, peering out the front window.


	85. Chapter 85: Sam's Tour

**Chapter 85: Sam's Tour**

Dean's phone went off at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning. It was frigging spring break! He was supposed to be allowed to sleep in!

"Dean," Libby moaned, eyes closed and one leg kicking at him. "Answer the damn phone."

He grunted, stretching to reach for his jeans in the floor. His phone stopped. Relieved, he rolled back into bed and closed his eyes, but it was not meant to be. His phone went off again. Really aggravated now, Dean snatched his jeans off the floor and yanked his cell out of the back pocket. Popping it open, he saw the caller was Sam.

"What?" he demanded.

"Uh, did we wake you?" Sam asked, sounding too damn chipper for this early in the morning. "You promised us a tour."

"A tour?" he repeated. Dean grabbed Libby by the waist and rocked her back and forth until her eyes opened, although she wasn't any happier about it than he was. "I said I'd give you a tour."

Libby rolled her eyes then nodded. She whispered, "If they came early."

"They're early," he whispered back. "Okay, no problem," he said into the phone. "Where are you?"

"In the front drive," Sam said with a chuckle. "Ten minutes?"

"At least," Dean sighed, rubbing one hand over his face. "Dude, I can't believe you really thought you needed to come early."

Sam laughed and it sounded good. "I tried to tell Jess, but she wouldn't listen. Don't worry about it, we'll just hang out here, outside, looking like we're casing the place..."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled. He glanced around. "Baby, I do have some clean clothes here, right?"

"Top drawer," she replied sleepily, pointing at her chest of drawers.

"Come on, Dean. Baby? Really?" Sam chided. "You do remember her name, right?"

Dean tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled open the drawer. There were a couple of pairs of underwear, several t-shirts, and the pair of jeans he spent half of yesterday looking for. Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, he started to dress.

"Yes, I remember," he snapped. "What makes you think I don't?"

"You always use darlin' or sweetheart or something like that when you don't remember the chick's name," Sam replied. Then, in the background, "What? He does. Stop it, I'm trying to ask a question here." Back to Dean, "Well?"

Dean cast a rather guilty glance at Libby before he informed his bratty brother, "She likes it, all right?"

Libby sat up and mouthed, "Likes what?"

Dean gave her a wide, broad grin before whispering, "Baby."

Warm feeling flooded him from her as she returned his smile. "Want some company on the tour?" she offered.

Dean shrugged and covered the mouthpiece with one hand. "Up to you. You did promise to show them the library. We could end there and leave Jess while I take Sam for his physical with Hank."

"Good plan," she said with a nod and a glance at the clock. "That should give me time to shower and dress."

"Uh, huh," Sam was saying in his ear, though it was hard to focus on his brother's voice as he watched a beautiful naked woman walk out of the room. "Let me guess, you screwed up and called her baby by mistake and she liked it, so now you're stuck with it."

"Kind of," Dean hedged. "Hang on." He set his phone aside to pull on a fresh t-shirt. "I'll explain in about five minutes, okay? I'm coming out to get you."

"We're waiting," Sam replied. "See you in five."

Dean hung up his phone, stuffing it in the back pocket of his clean jeans. He didn't exactly look like a teacher dressed like this, but then again, who cared? It didn't really matter if Sam believed it was for real or not. And maybe if he kept telling himself that, he would start to believe it.

After calling out to Libby in the shower that he was leaving, Dean rushed out. He took the big stairs two at a time, not spotting a single kid up this early when there were no classes. Big surprise. He very nearly stopped at the kitchen first, the heady aroma of eggs and sausage beckoning to him. Dean bypassed it wistfully to go out the front doors.

Parked directly across from the front doors was Sam's rental car. He waved to the couple standing by the driver's door as he jogged over to join them.

"We're going to start with breakfast," Dean announced as he approached.

Sam laughed and turned to his girlfriend. "Told you, didn't I?"

"What about Libby?" Jess asked, looking around. "Isn't she coming on the tour?"

"Uh, she's still getting dressed," Dean replied. "We're going to meet her at the library in a little while. She's looking forward to showing you her psychology section."

"Oh, good," Jess said with a nod, even pleasant emotions coming from her. "I was afraid she had forgotten."

Dean had to laugh at that. "Libby doesn't forget much. Come on, I don't think we're going to have a problem finding a table. Looks like all the kids are sleeping in."

"They feed you, huh?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "Well, that might explain it." He turned to Jess and jabbed a thumb in Dean's direction. "Nobody can eat like my brother."

"Yes, Sam," she laughed, "I know. Dean, are you sure it's all right for us to eat here?"

"It's a perk," Dean assured her. "Don't worry about it. Dad and Bobby always eat here when they come to visit."

"Bobby comes to visit?" Sam asked, a short spurt of surprise, tangy but shockingly not tart, shooting out.

"Sure," Dean replied with a shrug. "Why not?"

"He's never come to see me," Sam replied, his emotions betraying the fact he was feeling rather left out.

Dean gave his brother a hard look. "Ever invite him?"

The burst of guilt was not unexpected.

"Thought so," he replied, heading inside the cafeteria. Dean led them through the line. There were only a couple of adult instructors in front of them, none from last night's outing, so Dean had to introduce Sam and his girlfriend. With full trays they pretty much had their pick of places to sit. Dean chose a table close by the door where he could see who came and went. Sam and Jess sat opposite him.

"What are we going to see today?" Sam asked conversationally. "Do we get to sit in on a class?" His brother sounded rather sarcastic. An 'ummph' and a wince proved Jess really would take his side from time to time.

"It's our Spring Break too," Dean told them. "That's why a bunch of us went out last night, to celebrate no classes for a whole week." He chuckled and stretched his arms out, feeling soreness in his shoulders and upper back which had nothing to do with physical exertion. "I know I can use the week off."

"What about summer classes?" Sam asked with a wary glance at his girlfriend. "I really would like to see you in action."

Dean snorted, shaking his head. "Still don't believe it, do you?" He chuckled, scooping up more egg on his fork. "Can't say that I really blame you, after the way I barely made it through school."

"Hey, Professor!" a welcome voice shouted from the breakfast line. "Can we sit with you?"

Dean glanced over at Bobby Drake and his new roommate and constant companion, Steven. Even Xavier hadn't been able to pry a last name out of the kid. He waved them both over.

"What's with the professor stuff?" Sam demanded. "You don't have a degree."

Dean shrugged. "Dude, it wasn't my idea. The kids started it."

"You didn't tell them to stop either, I'll bet," Sam accused. Dean grinned in reply, causing his brother's eyes to roll and familiar waves of 'I knew it' to flow freely. Pure aggravation poured from Jess, meaning she had advised Sam on how to behave and he wasn't following her guidelines. Welcome to Life With Sam, Dean thought with glee. It was high time someone else saw what a pain in the ass he could be.

They sat on Dean's side of the table. As usual, Steven didn't bother to raise his head or acknowledge the people sitting across the table.

"Bobby, you remember my brother Sam and his girlfriend Jess, don't you?" Dean asked by way of introduction. Interest peaked from Steven and a sideways glance, the most response Dean had seen from the boy all month.

"Sure." Bobby reached across the table to shake hands with each of them. "Good to see you. Nice of you to come for a visit." The kid nodded at him. "Dean has been talking about you coming for a couple of weeks now."

"Dean?" Sam asked, appearing puzzled. "I thought you called him Professor?"

Bobby shrugged and picked up his fork. "It depends on who can hear me."

"Sam, this is one of our newer students, Steven. Steve, my brother Sam." Dean had to reach behind Bobby to give Steven a shove. When the boy looked at him, Dean motioned for him to shake hands. He shook his head, lowering his gaze to stare at his tray.

Dean sighed in frustration. "You'll at least eat with them, right?" he demanded. "They're safe."

Steven's clear gaze lifted from his tray to stare hard at Sam and Jess, to the point Jess actually squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and Dean felt pure unease from her. Then Steven looked to his tray and picked up his fork to stab at his breakfast.

"Safe?" Sam asked, overpowering concern wiping out all traces of other emotions at their table. "What do you mean by safe?"

"Our kind of safe," Dean replied with a knowing look at his brother. Sam nodded quickly and cast a guilty glance at Jess.

"How have you been, Bobby?" Sam asked, changing to a safer topic. "Not making plans to run away again, are you?"

"No, sir," Bobby replied adamantly. "As a matter of fact, they're going to have to throw me out of school to get me to leave."

Dean chuckled and gave Bobby a shove in the arm, a warning to cool it. "He's done so much running since we came back, he joined the track team."

"I really don't want to go to the state competition," Bobby added. "It means leaving school."

Sam gave Dean a quizzical and wondering look, which matched his emotions perfectly. "I'm sure it'll be fine," he replied slowly, his gaze darting between Dean and the student. "I mean, your teachers will be there."

Bobby turned to Dean. "Will you?"

"I can be," Dean said, trying to play off the fact he kind of liked Bobby asking for him. "Does that mean you'll compete?" He bit into a sausage.

Bobby twirled his fork over his pancakes, studying the disappearing swirls in the syrup. "I guess."

Steven cleared his throat, still not looking up.

Bobby turned to his friend. "You can hang out with Sarah if I go. You know she won't mind."

A slight shrug of those thin shoulders was more of an answer than Dean could usually pry out of him. Why Steven had retreated so far into himself, where he would only communicate with a chosen few, was a mystery Hank was anxious to solve. In the meantime they were under strict instructions to attempt to include him, ask him questions, but not force any answers. Basically to give Steven every opportunity to speak without demanding it.

"There's always the library, too," Dean suggested. "I happen to know The Librarian is a pretty nice lady."

Bobby rolled his eyes, the disbelief which always accompanied the fact Dean was dating her coming out strong.

"Shut up," Dean muttered with another shove to Bobby's arm. This time it was overpowering jealousy, pure and simple, which blew away all other emotional connections Dean had at the table. Confused, he looked across the table to discover Sam glaring hotly at Bobby's arm. When Dean caught him, Sam's facial expression was instantly replaced with one calm and cool, but the jealousy was still there. Dean glanced between the two a couple of times, trying to figure out why Sam would be jealous, until it hit him. He had been treating Bobby a lot like he used to treat his little brother, when Sam was still a kid. And now that Sam had seen him do it, ol' Sammy was jealous. Sam jealous? Dean wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or overjoyed that his little brother wanted...

Actually, that was a good question. What the hell did Sam want? Or expect? One minute the kid demanded to be treated like an adult, and the next he was jealous of not being treated like a kid? It was enough to give Dean a headache. It was a good thing they were going to see Hank today.

"You know, Bobby," Dean said, trying to sound casual, "even though there aren't any official classes, maybe we could round some of the kids up. It might be their only chance to ask questions of someone else who grew up like I did."

Sam's eyes went wide and a bolt of fear shot through him strong enough to take his breath away. His brother clearly had not told Jess anything.

"Yeah, how long are you here for, Sam?" Bobby asked, oblivious to Sam's plight. "There's no way I'd be able to round up more than two or three kids today, but by Monday or Tuesday I bet I could have half the school ready to meet you." He pointed at Dean with the rounded end of his fork. "Dean's always talking about his kid brother, so there's a lot of people here who are dying to meet you."

"What's so special about the way you grew up?" Jess asked, her curiosity was not cotton candy sweet and light like Libby's, but thicker with more of a lemony flavor, like it was mixed with suspicion. "Other than the fact your father had psychotic friends?"

"What do you know about Dad's friends?" Dean asked. Was it too much to hope Sam had come clean with his girlfriend?

"Sam told me that ridiculous story about trying to catch the man eating bear," she replied. Dean must have given her a very confused look, because she went to the trouble of explaining. "You and Sam and your father's friend were out camping and trying to trap the killer bear in a pit you dug. Then the bear attacked suddenly out of nowhere and Sam thought it was going to eat him on the spot when you tackled it? Breaking a bunch of ribs?"

The Wendigo hunt, Dean would bet on it. Then yes, it had been too much to hope that Sam had come clean with his girlfriend.

"A man eating bear," Bobby repeated slowly, looking at Jess like she was the densest person on the planet. Dean kicked him under the table, not hard but enough to be felt.

"Oh, that story," Dean said, putting on one of his best smiles. "Sam loves that story. He exaggerates, of course."

"No I didn't," Sam said calmly. "You saved my life when you tackled it." He turned to his girlfriend. "And he broke four ribs."

"It wasn't..." Dean paused in his protest. Actually, Sam would be in a better position to know that fact than he would. "Four? Are you sure?"

Sam nodded, scowling. "Four. Definitely. I remember because..." It seemed to be Sam's turn to trail off, guilt and self-recrimination taking place of the pride he had been experiencing telling his story. "At least, that's what I thought at the time."

"I'm sure you were right," Dean told him, the blast of mixed suspicion and surprise expected. He sopped up the last of his egg using his toast. "Ready for that tour?" he asked before cramming the toast in his mouth.

"This is why I like eating with Professor Hunter," Bobby said with a laugh. "He never complains about table manners." He held out a hand to Sam. "Good seeing you again, sir."

Sam seemed a bit taken aback at being called 'sir' as he shook Bobby's hand. "Thanks. You too, Bobby. And it was good meeting you, Steven."

Steve didn't look up, as usual. Dean gave each kid a gentle squeeze to the shoulder as he passed them to take his tray to the return area, Sam and Jess following. After a quick tour of the mansion, paying special emphasis to the rec rooms and the gym, Dean figured it was time to hit the library. When he walked through the door he could tell Libby was here. There wasn't anything specific, like an emotion or a smell, he could just feel she was close. They rounded the stacks for the information desk where Libby sat by herself checking in books. When they walked up her head lifted, her pretty blue-green eyes large behind her reading glasses.

"There you are," she said cheerfully, setting aside her task and taking off her glasses to hang by their chain from her neck. "Tell me, Jess, do you want to start with the psychology section, or the family section I've started? There are a lot of kids here who are run-aways, so I thought putting together a section specifically on family psychology, law, even fiction would be helpful. I'd love to hear your opinion on it, as a psyche major."

"Oh, that sounds like a great place to start," Jess replied, sounding and feeling pleased by the compliment. "What do you think, Sam?"

"Uh, Sam is coming with me," Dean interjected. "We need a little one-on-one time. There are some family issues we need to talk about."

Jess studied Dean carefully. "Adam?"

"That's one," Dean agreed, nodding.

"I don't mind hearing about it," she said, clearly trying to stay close to Sam. It made Dean wonder what they thought today was going to be about.

"Actually, you're going to meet him tomorrow," Dean told her. "Dad has already picked him up and they're headed this way."

"You're kidding," Sam replied. "I thought he didn't want to meet me?"

Dean shrugged. "He changed his mind."

"Jim changed his mind," Libby pointed out.

"Pastor Jim? Really?" Sam chuckled and shook his head. "I thought he was mad at me."

"Just wants to hear from you more, Sammy," Dean explained. "That's all." He addressed Jess. "I won't keep him forever, I promise." He tossed an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Can Sammy please come out and play?"

Jess focused on Sam, like it was totally up to him. Dean squeezed hard around Sam's shoulders. They really did not need her there for this.

"It's fine," Sam assured her, though he felt anything but confident. "I'll tell you all about it later."

Jess nodded, turning back to Libby. "All right, I guess it's just us girls."

Libby beamed at her. "Follow me. If they take too long, we'll just have to go to lunch." She shot Dean a significant look. "By ourselves."

"We won't be that long," he protested. He knew it was a hollow threat, there was no way she would leave campus unescorted. At least, he thought she wouldn't. Crap. Better not be late.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath to his brother, giving Sam a push to get his ass in gear. Dean intentionally changed their path back to the front door to take them through the section on the supernatural.

Sam stopped stock-still in the aisle, eyes wide and wondering. "Oh, God," he whispered, head whipping back and forth as he tried to take it all in at once. "No way."

"Told you Bobby was impressed," Dean bragged. "But seriously, dude, we need to go. I don't like Libby leaving the campus without me." He grabbed his brother by the front of the shirt to haul outdoors.

"Why not?" Sam demanded, following close on his heels.

Dean waited until they were outside before answering. "She has dreams about the demon when we leave the grounds, unless I lay out protections. It means it's after her too." He shot his brother a hard look. "I don't want to risk it."

–

* * *

Sam quietly followed his brother back to the huge mansion, which he now knew housed the entire population of the school. As they approached the doors on this side, a man in a wheelchair blocked their path.

"Morning, Professor," Dean said, stopping in front of the older bald man.

"Good morning, Hunter," the man replied with a pleasant smile and a subtle nod of his head.

"Oh, all right. Professor, this is my brother Sam." Dean turned to include him. "Sam, this is Professor Xavier. It's his school."

Sam reached around his brother to shake the man's hand, a little taken aback that the founder of the school was in a wheelchair. Strange that Dean never mentioned it.

"We've met on the phone," Sam said as he shook the elegantly long but strong hand. "It's good to have a face to put with the voice."

"Indeed," Xavier replied. "Tell me, Sam, are you in the habit of judging individuals based on appearance?"

Now that was a weird question. "How do you mean?" Sam asked.

Xavier looked to Dean. "You are on your way to see Doctor McCoy?" Dean nodded. "Do you require assistance?"

Dean gave Sam a long, evaluating look. "I guess I could wait for Dad but I'd really like to get this part over with." His gaze was so intense Sam thought he could feel it prickling his skin. "I think we're good."

"Very well." Xavier's chair rolled backwards, out of their way. "If any additional explanations or assistance is required, I can be found in my office."

"Thanks, Professor," Dean replied respectfully. "Knowing my brother here, he'll have more questions later. How about I bring him by after lunch?"

"Excellent," Xavier said. "I shall have my secretary block out two hours. Will that be sufficient?"

"It should," Dean said. "Thanks, Professor."

"Good morning, Gentlemen," Xavier said, quite possibly the most polite dismissal Sam had ever heard. They stood to the side as the wheelchair backed around in a semi-circle before pulling forward, heading towards the front of the mansion.

"Why aren't there more ramps around here?" Sam asked when Dean reached the stairs leading up to the wide back porch.

"Huh?" Dean glanced back. "What for?"

"The guy who owns this place is in a wheelchair," he pointed out, thinking his reasoning ought to be obvious. "I would think there would be wheelchair ramps all over the place."

"Oh." Dean frowned, his brow furrowing. "There's a reason for that. I mean, there are some, but he doesn't really need them." He shook his head, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder to shove him inside. "Hank will be able to explain it. Let's go."

Sam expected to return upstairs, however Dean took him down an elevator to a tunnel system beneath the mansion. Now this was one of the coolest things he had ever seen. It was right out of a movie. Lighted tunnels with rooms filled with expensive equipment for things Sam could only guess at existed for real at this place. Dean walked hastily to the end of one of the tunnels.

"This is my doctor, Sam," Dean said before opening the door. "He's a good guy and he's real sharp." His hand rested on the doorknob but did not twist to open the door. "Are you packing?"

Packing? "Dean, I took a plane. I couldn't be packing if I wanted to."

Dean blew out a breath. "Good. Just remember, I trust this guy, all right? If you trust me, at all, hear us out. Okay?"

"I trust you," Sam argued. "Why wouldn't I trust you?"

Dean merely shrugged and twisted the knob. He pushed the door open, motioning for Sam to go in first. Sam walked into a cool looking lab, all kinds of medical equipment, pristine clean and new, lining all of the available counter space. Where there wasn't equipment there were petri dishes and labeled samples, beakers containing colored fluids, open spiral notebooks filled with large handwriting, and papers haphazardly strewn here and there. It was like a mad scientist's lab out of a movie.

A large figure, the size of a pro ball linebacker, sat on a stool at the far end of the room hunched over. He had long black hair reaching down to his shoulders.

"Hunter?" a deep male voice called out.

"Yeah, it's me," Dean replied. "I brought Sam." He positioned himself between Sam and the door with arms crossed over his chest.

"Good, good," the man said. "One moment, please." The voice betrayed a high level of education, which Sam thought was at odds with the long bushy hair. Then one arm reached out to the right to pick up one of those papers scattered around the lab. The hand was blue with nails long and dark, like claws. Sam took a step back, his heart beating faster, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

When the head turned Sam could see it in profile, the lab lighting so good there were no shadows to obscure the face. It too was blue and furry. What Sam had assumed was long black hair was really black fur swooping out to the sides and down the back of the head. It had large pointed blue furry ears and dark eyes. The really weird part was the gold rimmed glasses it peered through at the paper it held in its right hand. It's mouth fell open slightly revealing bright white teeth which came to a sharp point.

One hand flailed at Sam's lower back, where he used to carry a piece before starting Stanford. When Dean's hands landed on his shoulders he jumped.

"Trust me, Sammy," Dean whispered in his ear, gripping his shoulders. "This is Hank."

Now the blue monster turned to face them, the pointed teeth more obvious as it smiled. "Ah, the famous brother Sam." He leapt lightly from his stool, proving how inhuman he was, before approaching with an outstretched hand.

Sam's body trembled with the desire to bolt from the room but his brother had a firm grip on him. "Don't embarrass me," Dean hissed in his ear.

Embarrass. The word struck hard. Dean had never been embarrassed by him before, no matter what he had done. Sam couldn't lift his hand to shake that hand, paw, claw, whatever.

The blue beast stopped short of actually touching him, his huge furry head tilting to one side and those dark eyes boring into Sam. "Perhaps you have some questions about your brother? His medical condition?"

Now that triggered his mouth, even though he was talking to something he should be shooting at. Actually this explained it, this explained everything. Some monster did this to Dean, that was the real reason his brother was hanging around some so-called school. He had to stay so the monsters wouldn't kill him. It would be up to Sam to figure out how to save him. "What about it? What did you do to my brother?"

"It's not Hank's fault, Sam," Dean told him in a stern voice. One of the hands left his shoulder to pop him in the back of the head. "Knock it off. You get any more pissed off and I'll kick your ass myself."

Sam shot his brother a hard glare. "I'm not pissed off."

"Like hell," Dean snapped, both hands back on his shoulders and rubbing gently, the pressure against his tense muscles forcing Sam to calm.

"Hunter would know," the blue beast said. "Should I leave?"

"It's your lab," Dean replied, "if anyone leaves it'll be us. But I figured Sam wanted to talk to my doctor."

"How can it be a human doctor?" Sam demanded.

"Would you care to see my credentials?" the blue monster asked. "I don't believe I had this much trouble with your father."

Sam simply stared for a moment, not comprehending Dad talking to this thing instead of killing it. "Dad?" he asked, addressing the monster for the first time. "You know my father and you're still alive?"

The blue monster chuckled. "Hunter, I definitely see the family resemblance."

Dean's hands squeezed tight enough to hurt. "Sorry about this, Hank."

"Quite all right," the monster assured them in his cultured voice. "It is good to see family members who care about one another. Unfortunately we don't experience that enough around here."

Sam glared suspiciously at the monster. "Why not?"

"Is he really as clueless as he appears?" the monster asked Dean.

Dean sighed from behind him. "Afraid so."

The monster rolled a stool over to perch on. Now Sam could see it wasn't wearing shoes and its feet were blue furry claws as well, toes curling around the lower bar of the stool. "Perhaps you could clue him in? We don't seem to be getting anywhere this way."

"Sit down, Sam," Dean ordered, shoving him at a regular chair pushed up against one of the counters. Sam pulled it out, keeping his back towards the wall and one eye on the monster as he sat. He could trust Dean behind him, but that was it. Oh, God. Jess. She was wandering around a place with a furry blue monster and who knew what all else.

"I need to call Jess," he mumbled, reaching for the cell in his pocket.

"We're mutants, Sam," Dean said, hands still clamped on his shoulders.

Sam twisted his head to look up at Dean. "There aren't any mutants," he said slowly. "It's some kind of possession."

"No, Sam," Dean replied heavily. He fished under his shirt and pulled out the leather cord with the pendant Sam had given him years ago. With it, on the cord, was a silver charm. Sam reached up with a trembling hand to inspect it.

"This looks like an anti-possession charm," Sam said softly, his brow furrowing and his mouth going dry.

"Mutants are real, Sam." Dean tucked it back under his shirt. "Hank isn't a monster, he's a mutant and my doctor."

"You said we," Sam said weakly.

Dean looked real guilty as he shoved his hands into his front jeans pockets. "The whole school, Sam. We're all mutants. Kids, teachers, all of us." He shrugged, giving Sam a thoughtful look. "You don't have to worry about your girlfriend, she's safe. There isn't a safer place around than here."

"Especially now," the monster added, his voice so smooth and cultured, "since all of the protections have been added." He motioned to the ceiling.

Sam looked up, shocked to find some kind of containment symbol painted up there. "That can't be what it looks like."

"Traps demons," Dean told him. "Don't ask me what this one is called. Bobby told us to use it indoors. You didn't notice how many you had to walk over inside the mansion?"

Worriedly Sam chewed at his lower lip before shaking his head.

"Getting soft, Sammy," Dean chided, a look of disapproval or disappointment flashing over his features. "There's a demon after these kids."

"Even though they're mutants?" Sam asked. "But I thought they would be on the same side."

"Sam, look at me." Dean's gaze locked with his. "I'm your brother. You know me. Would I ever, ever, be on the same side as some demon?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "But how can you... You can't be a mutant. I would know."

"How, Sam?" The sympathy in Dean's eyes was impossible to miss, and confusing. He patted his chest on the side where his lung had collapsed. "Think you would run across it fixing some broken ribs? Or checking out my lung?"

His entire body froze in place, fear coursing his veins at being found out. Adrenaline caused the blood racing through his ears to pound.

"Man, do I feel stupid for not figuring it out earlier," Dean went on. "I really believed Winchesters just healed up from stuff faster than other people."

"We do," Sam insisted, but his voice was weak and hoarse.

Dean shook his head and Sam felt a strange yet familiar sense of calm settle on him, soothing his nerves. It took a moment for him to notice that his brother held him by the shoulders again.

"You're a healer, Sam," Dean told him gently. "Thanks, by the way. For, well, all of it." He chuckled, his hands still gripping Sam's upper arms tightly.

"I can't do serious injuries," Sam warned. "It's too hard. You'd bleed out before I could fix it."

"Understood," Dean replied seriously.

"Hunter?" the blue monster prompted.

"I'm getting to that," Dean said, not taking his eyes off of Sam. "You're gonna laugh," he told Sam.

"I could use one," Sam admitted. "Tell me this is some sick twisted joke."

Dean sighed and the sense of calm became stronger. "I'm an empath."


	86. Chapter 86:Feelings,Nothing but Feelings

**Chapter 86: Feelings, Nothing but Feelings...**

Sam stared at his brother, his ears burning with the words rattling inside his brain. "What?" he managed to push out through his dry throat.

The sense of calm became heavier, stilling his movements, weighing down his limbs until Sam worried if he closed his eyes too long he might fall asleep.

"Freaking girly, right?" Dean chuckled, his hands squeezing and releasing in a comforting, familiar way. "It sucks too, but I'm an empath."

"You are quite a bit more than that, Hunter," the monster, whom Sam had all but forgotten, said.

"Relax, Hank," Dean said, not taking his eyes off Sam. "He's freaked enough. Give him a minute."

His method for healing Dean, to think and force himself to actually feel good things about his brother, sprang to mind. "No wonder that always worked."

"What worked, Sammy?" Dean asked, his tone and manner reverting to how he used to talk, when Sam was just a kid.

"You always fight me," he began to explain before he realized that he admitted to the accusation of being a healer. Sam had never put a label on it before.

"Go on," Dean encouraged, his smile small and promising safety. "When do I fight you? When you're doing the healing stuff?" One hand shifted to wrap around the back of his neck. Sam leaned into the protective and caring touch.

Sam hesitated before nodding, unable to hold it back any longer and wondering why he ever wanted to. "Yeah, you're a real pain in the ass about it."

Dean chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth and affection. "Sounds like me. So what do you do about it?" Warmth spread from the hand grasping the back of his neck, soothing and calm.

"I think about how much I like doing it," he said, shocking himself with his own honesty. "How glad I am you're my brother." Sam grinned. "My big brother. You know, you need to come see me at school. We have some awesome parties."

"Thanks for the invite," Dean replied with a chuckle. "How are you feeling now?"

"You're supposed to be an empath," Sam argued. "You tell me."

"You're fine." His brother gave his neck another gentle squeeze. "Ready to hear the rest? Why you can't try to fix the metabolism thing?"

"I've been doing research," Sam replied stubbornly as the comforting hand left his neck to return to his shoulder. He gazed up into Dean's clear mossy green eyes, waiting.

Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "No doubt. Okay, Hank. You're on. Pretend you're explaining it to me. No fancy medical crap."

Sam couldn't shift his focus to the source of the calm educated voice. Slowly the concept of his brother being an empath and capable of altering the way people around him felt, to the point he could change their perception of their environment, filtered in. The metabolism was a side-effect of the mutant gene becoming fully active.

"That explains more," Sam said to Dean when the monster paused in talking.

"How?" Dean asked. No pressure. Just a question.

"You always fit in," Sam explained. "No matter where you go or who you're with, you always seem like you belong." He gave his brother a wistful look. "I've always envied that about you. I can't do it."

"I tried to teach you," Dean replied with the same smile. "Too damn stubborn to listen. These kids listen a hell of a lot better than you ever did."

"Fitting in," Sam said as the realization came crashing through the thick wall around his brain. "That's what you teach? They should listen, you are good at it."

"They do," Dean assured him. "Some of 'em are pretty good. Like Bobby."

"Not sure I like him," Sam admitted, and his sudden desire for absolute honesty was puzzling.

"Because you're jealous." His brother laughed lightly, giving his shoulders another squeeze. "He's a good kid, but he's not my little brother." Dean winked.

"Hunter? Perhaps you should tone it down," the blue monster advised. "Your energy levels have been at a sustained rate for some time now."

"You use it on me?" Sam asked, anger creeping into his emotions.

"You need it," Dean replied in the same calm tone. "Don't you dare get angry, Sam. You have no idea how hard it is to keep your emotions in balance right now. What the hell happened in Cali to knock you so far out of whack, anyway?"

"What?" How could this be more confusing? "Out of whack? You mean, you're the reason I've been feeling better? Calmer?" He stared disbelieving at his brother. "For real?"

"For real," Dean said with a serious nod of his head.

Sam laughed, patting his brother's arm with one hand. "Hey, that means you're an emotional healer."

"An excellent point," the monster added. "We should test that."

"No," Dean said firmly, but he smiled at Sam. "I know I can't do this with just anybody. Only my brother."

Sam gripped his brother's arms, the palms of his hands warming. Dean was weakening, his physical energy levels dropping. Unacceptable. Staring into those mossy green trusting eyes, Sam mentally dove into pathways he knew better than his apartment back at school. He tweaked his brother's ability to convert biological energy from food. Sam amped up Dean's natural energy levels, making his body more efficient and less likely to expend too much accidentally. Honestly enjoying being able to finally examine his brother without worrying about being caught or interrupted, Sam allowed his feelings on the matter to flow, as usual. As he continued checking and giving gentle nudges towards efficiency in all systems of his brother's body, a sense of belonging, calm, and balance settled over him.

When Sam came back up, conscious of his surroundings again, he noticed that he felt better now than he had in a few years, since before he left for school.

"How am I?" Sam asked, curious. "Are my emotions still out of whack?"

"I don't think so," Dean said, releasing him and breaking their physical connection. "How do you feel?"

"Good." He grinned. "I think I can tell that therapist to take a hike."

"I wouldn't recommend it," the monster interjected. "These readings were most curious, Hunter. Would it be possible for me to take more readings in the isolation chamber before your brother leaves?"

Dean rolled his head, popping his neck, and shook out his shoulders like a dog shaking off water. "What were you doing, Sam?"

Pretty damned pleased with his achievements, Sam grinned broadly. "How do you feel? Good, right? Strong, healthy." He straightened his spine to sit upright proudly. "That scar tissue in your lung is almost gone, by the way."

"No kidding?" One of Dean's hands lifted to press on his left ribcage. He took a real deep breath and blew it out. Dean looked over at the monster. "I feel fine. Not even tired."

Sam scowled. "Why the hell would you feel tired?"

The blue monster who sounded like a real medical doctor tapped a black claw on his monitor. "The energy readings I have here are fascinating. It appears that you two swapped energy." He stepped forward to stand closer, examining Dean's face closely. "You're not even pale."

"With your permission, of course, Sam," it said, obviously asking to examine Sam as well.

"Hank is a good doctor," Dean assured him. "Let him check you out."

"Hank, huh?" Sam turned to allow it. "Dad really puts up with this?"

"Call him and ask if you don't believe me," Dean replied. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. What else do you want, Hank? Full physical?"

"If it will be permitted," the blue monster said, sounding distracted as he pulled down on the skin below Sam's eye and peered into his eyeball. "Fascinating."

"What time is it?" Sam asked.

"Oh, crap!" Dean snapped, his arm with his watch flying up before his eyes. "Shit, we have to go, Hank. I'll see if I can talk Sam into that physical later."

"Problems, Hunter?" the monster, Hank, asked.

"Libby said if we took too long she and Sam's girlfriend would go to lunch without us," Dean said in a worried tone. "It's almost noon."

"Then go." Hank chuckled at Dean. "Sam, I have had precious few opportunities to examine healers, much less one bonded with and who experiences a symbiotic relationship with an empath."

"Yadda-yadda," Dean interrupted. "Explain later, we have to go. Bye, Hank." He grabbed Sam by the arm and yanked him out of the chair.

As he was hustled through the underground corridor, Sam tried to wrap his head around what happened, what he now knew. "Did you understand that last part?" he demanded. "The symbiotic relationship part?"

Dean snorted loudly, rushing for the ground level. "Dude, I don't understand half what Hank says."

"Stop playing stupid," he complained. "You always understand more than you let on!"

Dean stopped short, pulling up quickly to regard Sam. "You can tell? Really?" He looked worried. "I thought I pulled it off better than that."

"Oh, you're good," Sam agreed. "It took me years to figure out that you play dumb so people underestimate you."

"You, uh, figured that too, huh?" Dean's head tilted to one side as he shrugged. "Anything else?"

"We're late?" Sam suggested.

"Damn, that's right!" He took off again. "If she left the grounds without me, I'll kill her."

Sam matched Dean's pace, racing alongside. "You like her that much? Really?"

"Really," Dean growled, his pace increasing.

"Wait." Sam grabbed his brother by the arm, pulling him to a stop. "Just wait a second. I want the truth, and I can tell when you lie."

Dean grunted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I figured."

Instead of asking why Dean knew, Sam grabbed this small window of honesty. "How much do you like her? I mean, she's not exactly your type."

"You mean she's too smart for me," Dean snapped. Then, just as quick, with another glance at his watch, all of his irritation dropped away. "She is. I have no idea what she's doing with me, but she likes me, Sam. Even more than Jess likes you." He winced. "Sorry, I don't want to compare them. It's not a contest. And it's not that much more." He shrugged. "I'm probably biased. Can we walk and talk at the same time?"

"Uh, sure." Sam fell into step with his brother. "So how much does Jess like me?" He couldn't help asking, it was an irresistible temptation, especially now that he knew Dean really knew the answer.

"A lot," Dean replied distractedly. "What are you going to tell her? You know you can't tell her we're all mutants, not with her family."

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Oh, hell. That's why you don't like her." He raked his fingers through his hair. "That makes a lot more sense now, too."

"Doesn't it?" Dean asked sarcastically. "Well? What's your story?"

"You have a genetic condition which makes your metabolism really high, but so far you can treat it with diet and you have a doctor who specializes in it." Sam rushed through the first floor of the mansion at his brother's side. "There's no indication that I have the condition, but I do have the gene."

Dean shot him a hard look. "Why do you want gene? As long as you're lying, go for the gold, dude. Tell her you're clean."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. She already thinks that you brought me here for bad news."

"So you're going to give her some," Dean replied. Then he grinned at Sam and gave him a pat on the back. "That should work. Maybe you did listen to me a little, huh?"

"Maybe," Sam admitted, feeling rather sheepish over the fact. Okay, so Dean's 'advice' about handling people hadn't fallen on completely deaf ears. Especially since he left for Stanford.

"Good." Dean beamed at him. "Glad you learned something good from me."

Sam popped him in the shoulder. "Oh, shut up!"

They burst through the doors to the outside. "Hey, do me a favor?" Dean glanced at him as they rushed towards the library. "Tell Jess something nice about Libby. Like you're impressed at how, I don't know, supportive she is or some crap like that."

"Crap. Got it," Sam replied agreeably, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "One condition. I get to really check you out again before we leave."

Dean's cutting glare was unbroachable. "Same here."

"Fair trade," Sam agreed quickly before Dean could take it back.

Dean shouldered through the library doors. He stood inside the door and, as it swung closed, shut his eyes, his breathing taking on a regular slow rhythm. When his eyes opened, he nodded to the left side of the library. "Think they're in the back," he whispered.

"How can you tell?" Sam asked in a low voice, walking swiftly beside his big brother.

"Uh, well," Dean hedged, "let's just say with some people, I can tell."

Even though his brother was holding back, Sam felt no sense of urgency to force the issue, no desire to make Dean tell him now. It was all right. Dean would tell him eventually, he was certain of it. He could _feel _it.

"I am one of those people, right?" he asked, more for confirmation than anything.

"You top the list, Sam," Dean replied with a straight face. Even if it wasn't serious, the answer sent a warm flush through Sam and he knew that was the only answer he wanted to hear.

They rounded an aisle, Sam so distracted he didn't even notice which section they were in, and Dean's face lit up. Looking ahead he saw both of their girlfriends sharing a study table pouring over large textbooks. Libby looked up first, as if she knew they were nearly upon them. Her face beamed and now Sam could see what Jess had been saying last night, how pretty she was. Strange he hadn't been able to see it before.

"Where are we going to eat?" Dean demanded as they walked up.

Jess gave him a significant look and Sam shrugged. "How about a place that serves huge portions?" he suggested.

Dean grinned, eyes only for Libby. "It's like he can read my mind."

She giggled, the light girly sound odd coming from a stringent looking librarian. "How about the pizza place you like?"

"Pizza sounds good," Jess said, walking over to wrap an arm around his back, the gesture sweet and reassuring. "Do you want to ride with us or take two cars?" Ah, and she wanted the low-down.

"We can take one car," Sam said quickly, wanting to right the situation with Libby. He had been pretty rough on her, which hopefully she didn't know. "Can we meet you two in five minutes?"

Dean nodded seriously. "Or ten? I'm sure Libby has a couple of things to do before she can punch the clock."

"I do?" Libby asked before comprehension dawned. "Oh, I do. Absolutely. But it won't take more than ten minutes. Can you two wait that long for us?" She turned to Dean. "It'll go faster if you help me."

"Sure, baby," Dean told her, smiling. He looked at them. "Plenty of privacy in those study rooms in the back. No classes this week. We can come get you when we're ready." He checked his watch again. "Baby, I'm going to need one of those snack bars. Do you have any?"

"A whole box," Libby promised, much to Sam's relief, even though he was pretty certain Dean wouldn't need one to keep him from passing out today. Well, at least not for the next few hours.

"Study room," Sam repeated, pointing the way. "If you need me."

Dean tossed him a wink as he turned to follow Libby towards the information desk. Sam noticed Dean's head turn one way and then the other, checking out his own girlfriend as she walked in front of him. At least some things hadn't changed.

"He's such a dog," Sam sighed to himself, more in relief than despair.

"Come on," Jess whispered urgently. They hurried to the empty study rooms, Jess closing the door to give them privacy. "Well? What the hell happened?"

"Dean does have a genetic condition," Sam told her. Then a brilliant idea occurred to him. "They're testing me for it, but the results won't be back for a few days. I don't show any signs of the metabolism problem, though, so if I have the gene I'm probably just a carrier." Not a full blown lie, just close. "The doctor wants to run some more tests while we're waiting, just to be sure."

Jess nodded seriously, her interest keen. "What would the signs be? In case you start to come down with symptoms after we go back to school and don't notice?"

"I don't know," Sam told her honestly. "But I'll ask. I'm sure Dean's doctor will give me a printout if I ask."

"Good. I'll make a copy," she said. Jess began to pace back and forth in the small room. "We need to stay long enough for the results. My parents were hoping that we would come for a visit since we're only a couple of hours away, but now I think we should stay here. Would your brother be offended if I asked to meet his doctor too? I have some questions."

Oh, crap.

"H-he might," he stuttered, mind racing for a really good reason to keep her away from the blue furry doctor monster. "I mean, we can ask, but, uh..."

"It might be too soon," Jess said, stopping with a sigh. "Your brother will need time to understand that he can trust me."

"Right," Sam agreed readily, overpowering relief at Jess providing him with the perfect excuse not to take her with him to see Dean's doctor.

"And meeting someone's doctor, well, that is rather personal," she continued. Sam nodded quickly. "We might never reach that stage. Do you think your brother would have an issue if I sent a list of questions for his doctor? Things I would like to know? If any of them are too personal he could cross them out."

"That sounds reasonable," Sam assured her. "After lunch you can make your list. I think we should be going soon, Dean probably needs to eat."

"Good point." Jess moved to the door and stopped with her hand on the metal frame. "Sam? Is there a chance you could develop a related genetic condition?"

Develop? He freaking had one! Had it for years even though he had never known what it was.

He hesitated, remembering Dean's advice that if he was going to lie, he might as well go for the gold. But that wasn't fair to Jess. He adored her, had been mentally planning their lives together after school, even been looking at buying an engagement ring, and would do almost anything to keep her. Anything but a full blown lie that could hurt her later. Would hurt her. What if they had kids?

"Yes," he finally told her, his heart heavy in his chest as he stared into her beautiful blue eyes. "It's very likely." He waited for her reaction, dreading what it might be. "If you'd, uh, rather go stay with your parents until it's time to go back, I'd understand."

Now that was a lie. He wouldn't understand, would harbor a grudge for years if she left him now, but he had to let it be up to her. He had to give her the opportunity to break up with him now because eventually he planned to come completely clean with her. Probably. At least, mostly clean. First he had to figure out if she really believed all the crap her father spouted about mutants. Well, honestly, first he had to know if she would leave him without even knowing what the genetic condition was. He could start planning once he knew. Maybe he could risk not telling her, their kids could be like him and Dean and not have any physical mutant characteristics.

Her palm flat against the metal frame of the door, she leaned forward until her forehead rested against it, eyes closed. Sam winced at the sight. At the moment being an empath would be helpful, too bad he sent Dean away. When Jess turned around her eyes were red rimmed and a tear trickled down her cheek. She shook her head and held her arms out to him. Sam stepped into the embrace, pulling her in close, burying his face in her hair and breathing in her intoxicating scent.

"I wanted it to be no," she said in a choked voice. "I really wanted it to be no." Her arms tightened and she stood on tiptoe to hug his neck, Sam leaning down to make it easier. "But it's okay. Really."

Jess sniffled and stepped backward, patting and grasping his arms all the way down to his hands. "You're not getting rid of me that easy, Sam Winchester." He watched her head lift and the movement in her throat as she swallowed hard. "This isn't how I pictured it." A beautiful smile crossed her face as a few more tears trickled down her cheeks. She squeezed his hands, holding tight.

"I think..." Jess swallowed again. "I'm..."

Movement through the glass window behind her distracted Sam's attention. Dean and Libby stood outside, his brother peering in, hand shading the glass. Then his brother's head shook once and he grinned, turning to speak into his girlfriend's ear.

Sam pulled Jess close again. "I'm totally in love with you," he promised, hugging her tight. Dean motioned to them through the glass, then he pointed to his watch and held up five fingers. Sam nodded that he understood, they had five minutes until it was time to go. His brother waved at him to get on with it as they turned away to give him at least a little privacy.

"Me too," Jess said into his shoulder. "Totally. I love you, Sam." She held him so tight he wondered if she was trying to squeeze the bad genes out of him. His response was to return the embrace as genuinely as it was given, swaying her gently from side to side.

Jess pushed back from him, both hands on his chest, to look up at him. "We're staying for your test results. If there is anything I, um, you know, need to know..." She took a deep breath, nodding her head. "Well, just tell that doctor to write it down. I'll take care of it. And, um, be sure to ask if there are any doctors he can recommend near us."

"I will," Sam promised, wiping away the residual tears from her cheeks. "And anything you write down. I promise."

"Okay." She took a shuddering breath, one hand lifting to caress his cheek. "I hope you know, it's going to be a big list."

Sam smiled at her, nodding. "Sure, baby."

"You almost sound like your brother when you say it," she said. "Have you noticed that Libby never calls Dean baby?"

"Uh, no," he admitted, "I haven't."

Jess sniffled before a large grin spread. "I'll bet she has a real sweet pet name for him." Her eyes flashed with fun even as she wiped the tears from her face. "Let's see if we can find out what it is before we leave."

"You're on." He kissed her, the kind she deserved after that, where he lost track of time, his surroundings, the rest of the world. Then a banging noise from the window intruded on them.

"I'm sorry, but this isn't allowed," a strict librarian voice interrupted.

Jess jumped, breaking their kiss and spinning around. "Oh, God, Libby, I thought it was your boss!"

"Xavier?" Dean asked from behind her, just outside the study room. "Nah, he sounds totally different. Are you two ready for pizza or what?"

"Do either of you have some paper or a notebook Jess can use?" Sam asked, one hand on her lower back propelling her out of the small room into the library. "She wants to write down some questions for Dean's doctor."

"I think we can handle that," Libby said cheerfully, heading for the information desk. She leaned over the counter from the outside to pluck a yellow legal pad and a pencil from the surface. "Always plenty of these around for the students."

"Does the school provide supplies?" Jess asked, taking it from her.

"Oh, yes," Libby replied. "Supplies, books, clothes, you name it."

"Wow." Jess slipped her arm behind Sam's back, gripping him at the waist. "That's amazing. I never heard of a school like this one."

Dean laughed, giving her one of those strange looks. "And you'll probably never hear of another one."


	87. Chapter 87: Mothers and Brothers

**Chapter 87: Mothers and Brothers**

"Well?" John asked on their second day on the road heading for the Xavier Institute. "Are you excited about seeing your brother?"

Adam yawned and stretched. It had been a long drive. "Always," he replied sleepily. "You know, Dean calls me at least once a week. He's a great big brother."

John sighed and shook his head. "You know I didn't mean Dean, Adam."

"Then maybe you should have said meet, not see," Adam replied in a surly voice.

"Maybe," John conceded. "If you don't want to meet him, why am I driving you all this way?"

"Is it true that Dean is an empath?" Adam asked, the question right out of the blue.

Internally John cringed. He hadn't expected Kate to go for full disclosure with Adam, otherwise he might not have told her all of it despite her high concerns regarding the blood test for Adam. Not to mention how she nearly went ballistic when she learned Dean had health 'issues'. "Even if he is, what does this have to do with Sam?"

"I came to meet real live mutants," Adam replied before stretching again in the passenger seat. "Honestly, I'm kind of hoping Sam's a no-show."

John growled under his breath. Why did all of his kids have to be so damned hard headed? Obviously he couldn't blame this one on Mary, it had to be from the Winchester side. "Sam is already there, he arrived early."

"Oh, great," Adam groused with a sour expression. "Am I going to have to pretend to like him? Dean should still know, you know. If he really is an empath." His arms crossed defensively over his chest. "He should already know."

"That's kind of what worries me," John said, sneaking glances to check Adam's reaction. "Being around a lot of heavy emotions wears Dean out, you know."

"Huh?" The boy looked confused, which John had been hoping for.

"Dean doesn't just know what you're feeling, he experiences it," he explained. "And when he has to experience a lot of conflicting emotions, or just really intense emotions, like when someone is dying or after a demonic possession-"

"Dying!" Adam interrupted with a bounce in his seat. "He got to see somebody die? For real?"

Why did the kid always have to have the wrong reaction? "That's not a good thing, Adam. When that happens Dean is totally drained." John sighed, understanding the full impact and truth of what he was saying at last. "He tends to sleep for the next two or three days, only waking up to eat."

"Oh," the boy said in a small voice. "I didn't mean it was good."

Rather relieved by the change in attitude, John reached over to pat Adam's leg. "Yeah, sport, I know. But my point in all this is, Dean is kind of protective of Sam. See, not only did they grow up together, but Dean used to look out for his little brother."

"That's what brothers do," Adam replied authoritatively. "Dean told me."

That figured. No surprise there.

"Yeah, well, there's more to it than that," John said, scratching uncertainly at his jaw. "Dean, he used to... He, uh... Well, see, I wasn't always..."

There was no way to say this without looking like a complete jackass and the worst father ever.

"Yeah, Dad?" Adam asked, his eyes so young and innocent, waiting patiently for a good answer.

John gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and stared straight ahead at the road. "I was gone a lot when the boys were growing up." The words stuck in his throat, his admission physically painful. "Dean was probably more responsible for raising Sam than I was." He refused to look to his right, afraid of the recrimination he would see in those eyes. An awkward quiet settled over the cab.

"What about their mom?" Adam asked, breaking the silence.

"Died when Sammy was just a baby," he replied gruffly. "Dean was still a little guy when he started to..."

"Fill in?" Adam asked, his tone incredulous. "Dean is really Sam's mom?"

"What?" Actually, unfortunately, that made a whole lot of sense. He wished he had seen it in that light before. The whole Stanford mess might not have been quite as nasty if he had.

"I wouldn't phrase it that way." He glared at Adam. "Ever. I mean it. Don't say that in front of Dean. Or Sam for that matter. I don't think it would be... I _know _it wouldn't be appreciated."

Silence filled the cab of the truck, but it was not an empty silence. It threatened to burst at the seams with Adam's furious thinking, brow burrowed, eyes narrowed unseeing at the road in front of them. It felt like an eternity went by this way and John could not decide if he preferred the silence to uncomfortable questions or if this drive was going to be far too long.

Finally Adam's brow smoothed and he turned to John. "What kind of mom is Dean?"

Silence. He definitely preferred silence. "I don't think I understand the question."

"Some moms are like mine, pretty cool and understanding, but some moms no matter what you do it's wrong, and some moms are real proud of you and other moms act like you can never measure up. What kind is Dean?" Adam stared hard at him, as if the boy could tell when he lied if the stare was hard enough. Not likely.

"I never thought about it like that," John admitted. "Give me a minute." He thought over how his sons behaved when they were together, how much Dean had always bragged on his little brother, how protective they were of each other. "Dean has always been proud of Sammy's accomplishments, encouraged him all through school. Probably the reason Sam even thought about going to college." John rolled his eyes, grateful neither of his older sons were around to see it. "I doubt Dean ever made Sam feel inferior."

"Then he was a good mom," Adam decided.

"You really need to stop referring to him that way," John reminded the boy.

"It's important, Dad," Adam argued. "I don't really understand how brothers work, but Moms? I'm an expert on Moms." He tapped his chest importantly. "I fix dinner four nights a week, when Mom has to work up at the hospital. I have friends whose moms don't work. Their rooms have to be cleaned every weekend. Every weekend, Dad! It's ridiculous." The boy huffed a sigh reminiscent of Sam. "And, they're not ever responsible for dinner. Talk about slackers." He shook his head sadly.

"Was Sam a slacker? Or did he help Dean with dinner?" he asked.

"I...uh...don't know," John admitted weakly.

Adam frowned, shaking his head again. "Well, whatever. I guess I'll just have to find out for myself. But now I get it, Dad. Really. Why everybody wants me to like Sam."

"Which is?" John prompted, hoping the kid really did 'get' it.

"Because of Dean," Adam replied simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "Nobody wants to make him feel like he wasn't a good mom."

Huh, then again, maybe the kid was more perceptive than he thought. The statement had an uncomfortable ring of truth to it. The crux of the matter wasn't only how tight their family was, how beloved Sam was, it was also how much Sam meant to Dean. If Adam did not get along with Sam it would stick Dean in the middle. Again. Actually, that was the part worrying John the most.

"Stop doing that," John warned. "Dean won't like it."

"Oh." Adam nodded eagerly. "Yeah, okay, we'll keep the mom thing between us."

"Good." John glanced at his watch. Still eight hours away. "So how's school?"

–

* * *

An awkward silence fell over their table after the pizza was ordered. Sam hated these kinds of silences, tense and wary. Jess' attention was riveted to her yellow notebook as she wrote question after question for Dean's doctor, seemingly oblivious to the fact she was ignoring the rest of them.

"You know, I never got that explanation," Sam said, a brilliant idea occurring to him. Not only should it prove informative, but had high potential for entertainment and would definitely break the tension.

Dean frowned. "For what?" He appeared suspicious, which went to prove how well he knew his little brother.

Sam let out his cheesiest, annoying little brother grin. "About how you started calling Libby 'baby'."

"Sa-a-am," Dean growled under his breath, one foot shooting out to kick Sam squarely in the shin.

Sam's leg jerked on contact and he reached down to rub at the spot, already throbbing from the blow. "What?" he asked as innocently as possible.

"Oh, that is the sweetest story," Libby gushed, much to his shock. "Sam, I think you're the first person to actually ask." A smile worthy of a high paid supermodel flashed over her face, reminding Sam of the glimpse of beauty he saw last night at the club. Maybe this was what Dean saw when he looked at her? That would explain a few things, at least.

She looked expectantly at Dean. "Do you mind if I tell him? I mean, you can tell him if you want, he's your brother, but would you mind?"

"Oh, uh, no," Dean stammered uncertainly. "I didn't think it was a big deal, anyway."

Jess' head lifted from her duties to watch them. "Men never do."

"Isn't that the truth?" Libby asked with a light chuckle. She gave Dean a silent questioning look. He shrugged and motioned to the center of the table, effectively turning the floor over to her.

"Well, it started on our one month anniversary," Libby began.

"You actually celebrated that?" Sam asked, unsure if he should be shocked or impressed. "Your idea, right?" His gaze was on Libby.

"Both of our idea," Dean insisted with a look warning Sam to back the hell off. "Go on, baby. Sam's bad about interrupting."

Sam rolled his eyes, turning to Jess to defend him.

"He can be," Jess said instead.

With a huff of disappointment, he returned his attention to Libby and folded his arms defensively over his chest. The person he liked least was his only hope of rescue at the moment.

"Any way," she continued, "I came down with the flu that day. I felt so bad I couldn't go to work and just stayed in bed all day. I even forgot it was our anniversary.

"I never called Dean to tell him, so he showed up at my door with flowers and.." She gave him a puzzled look. "Was that when you gave me the jazz CD? Or the blues?"

"Jazz," Dean assured her. He jabbed his thumb in the air at her. "And she passed out opening the door."

Libby leaned her head on Dean's shoulder and hugged his arm. "He carried me to bed and looked after me." She sighed happily.

"I'll bet," he muttered to himself, low enough no one should have heard. Sam cleared his throat and shrugged, because that wasn't the point. "And baby?"

"Oh." Libby grinned, hugging Dean's arm again. "I hate taking pills."

"Really hates it," Dean added, as if he needed to emphasize the point.

"When Dean wanted me to take the medication Doctor McCoy prescribed, I wouldn't do it. Then he said..." Her nose scrunched up and she looked like a young girl and, he had to admit, cute. "Oh, I forget the first part, something about leaving me alone if I took the pills, then he promised he'd stay if I took them." Her grin broadened and turned into a beaming smile that rivaled one of Jess'. "When I didn't, he said, 'Please, baby. You're kind of scaring me.'"

"Scaring you?" Jess asked, leaning on the table with her elbow.

"People die of the flu," Dean replied, highly defensive, looking like he was trying not to be embarrassed.

Jess' pretty blue eyes darted between the two before a smile lit her face. "That is a sweet story." Her gaze dropped to her notepad. "I think I just started using it on Sam, so he started calling me baby too." She wrote something down. "We'll probably have some sweet stories like that one of these days."

Sam glared at the gorgeous woman seated next to him, who was working on questions to ask a doctor because she was so worried about him. "We don't have any sweet stories? Is that what you're saying?"

"Not really," she said in a distracted tone.

"They serve beer here," Dean announced. "Uh, Lib, come buy a pitcher with me."

"What?" Libby was pulled from the booth before she could question Dean further. Sam turned to watch them walk away, wondering what in the hell brought that on. Then Dean, keeping Libby's back to Sam, turned and motioned to him to talk to Jess. Oh.

"Uh, Jess?" Sam asked.

"Huh?" She scribbled another line in her notepad.

Sam snatched the pencil from her grip. She turned to glare at him. "I was using that."

"You're obsessing," Sam informed her. "It's not like I'm dying."

"Oh, crap," she hissed, motioning for him to return her pencil. "I need to ask about shortened life expectancy."

"No. You don't." Sam pulled the notepad away and forced her to look at him. "I just had a great idea. Why don't we work on this list later at the hotel? Together?"

Her gaze darted down at the yellow paper and Sam moved to be in her line of sight. "This is the first time we've met my brother's girlfriend and you're acting like you're obsessed with a situation she's been dealing with since they met."

"What?" Now he had Jess' attention. Her intelligent blue eyes finally focused on him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're going off the deep end worrying about something that may never happen to me." He waved a hand at the bar area, where Dean and Libby waited on a beer pitcher to be filled. "They're in it up to their eyeballs and they're good. Perfectly fine." Sam shrugged and decided to take advantage of the situation to make good on his promise to Dean. "Kind of makes you admire Libby, with how supportive she's been and all."

Jess stared and stared at him. "Now I know it's serious. That's the first nice thing you've ever said about her." She breathed deeply a few times. "I'm acting like a nut, aren't I?"

"A cute nut," Sam replied.

Jess sighed shaking her head and leaning her cheek against her fist, elbow propped up on the window ledge beside her. "I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable. That's not right. They've accepted the situation and are dealing with it in a healthy, supportive manner." She sighed again. "Oh, Sam, if it were just your brother, I could be totally supportive too. But it's you." Her eyes became too shiny. "I really wanted it to be no."

She took another deep breath and braced her palms against the table. "If they can deal with this, I can too." Jess gave him an imploring look. "But I think I'm going to need a little time."

"Sure, baby," he assured her, "all the time you need."

She glanced over at the bar where Dean and Libby stood talking, a frosty pitcher of beer waiting on the bar for them to bring over. Both had smiles on their faces and appeared, to put it simply, happy to be here.

"Are you going to see that doctor again today?" Jess asked. "For more tests?"

"Depends on you," he told her honestly. Her head spun to face him, her long blond hair cascading over her shoulders and whipping across her lower face. "If you'd rather we left for the day, we'll go. We can hang out at the hotel, a park, the movies, you name it."

She smiled the kind of smile that he would do literally anything for. "This is why I fell for you. You're so sweet." One hand grasped his and clutched it tightly. "Actually, you should take advantage of seeing this specialist while you can. I was thinking of talking to Libby while you're gone, seeing if she would be willing to share her coping mechanisms with me. She really seems to have her act together, doesn't she?"

"Seems to," Sam agreed, holding her hand tight. "All right. If you're sure?"

She shook her head. "I'm not. But I think it's best."

"I'll keep my phone on," he promised. "And I'll take the list you have with me so Dean and I can look over it." Using only his free hand, Sam ripped out the top page from the notepad to stuff in his shirt pocket.

"Thanks, baby," Jess whispered before kissing his cheek, sending a warm flush through his system. She was The One. Definitely.

–

* * *

"How much longer?" Libby asked, glancing at the table where Sam and his girlfriend appeared immersed in a serious discussion.

"Let's give 'em a few more minutes," Dean suggested. He made a sour face. "At least until some of that anxiety settles down. Do you have any idea how bitter that tastes?"

She chuckled, returning her attention to him. "You know I don't. Afraid of ruining your appetite?"

His eyes rolled. "And then I'd have both you and Sam on my case for not eating enough. Joy."

"What do you think they're talking about?" she asked curiously, sneaking another peek in that direction.

"Sam told her that he carries the same gene which is responsible for my high metabolism," Dean told her. "She's freaking out about it."

"Why would he do that?" Libby gazed into his eyes, which always struck her as painfully honest and yet mysteriously enigmatic. She found the irony compelling. "I thought you said her family was anti-mutant."

"They are," Dean agreed, leaning against the bar and propping one foot up on the rail just above floor height. "He hasn't told her that part."

She adjusted the reading glasses hanging from her neck as she considered the situation. "Well, I guess it isn't a total lie."

"I told him to go for the gold," Dean replied. Libby shot her boyfriend a quizzical look. "Hey, if you're going to lie anyway, why not tell her exactly what she wants to hear?"

"I guess that would depend on if he ever planned to tell her the truth," she replied thoughtfully. "Do you think he will?"

He sighed, glancing their way. "I would if I were him."

"Really?" His gaze snapped back to her. "Why?"

The smile was small but still it reached all the way to his eyes, which crinkled at the corners. "Same reason I tell you everything."

"You tell me everything?" Libby asked, half teasing and half amazed by the admission. Even if it were true, it wasn't really like Dean to say it out loud. With her boyfriend, action was far more reliable than spoken words. It was another thing she adored about him.

"Well, yeah," he said slowly. "You knew that. Right?"

"I do now." Libby grinned broadly at him as she 'went for the gold'. "Does Logan like Julie? Because if he does, I think he has a chance there."

"He's never said he does," Dean hedged.

Libby shot him an incredulous hard look. "Oh, please. I did not ask if he told you he likes her, I asked if he likes her. You know damn well what I meant."

His grin broadened. "You sound like my dad when you talk like that."

"You're avoiding the subject," she accused.

"Yep." Dean picked up the pitcher off the bar and two of the empty pint glasses standing next to it. "All right, I think we've given them enough time to talk. I don't think Jess is going to ruin my lunch now."

Libby took the other two glasses before joining her boyfriend in walking across the restaurant to their table. "At some point, you will tell me."

"Why don't you just ask Logan?" he suggested. "See what he says." He winked at her. "Believe it or not, you've been turning into one of his favorite people lately."

"Not," she said brusquely.

"Oh, yeah?" Dean challenged with a gleam in his eye. "Then why does he look for us at every meal?"

"He's looking for you, not me," she argued.

"When you're not there he asks about you," Dean told her as they reached the table. He set the pitcher and glasses down in front of Sam and Jess.

She blew it off, sliding into the booth to sit by the window. Dean slid in next to her. "Just to be sure I won't show up."

"Who are you talking about?" Sam asked, pouring the beer.

"Logan," she said with a sigh, not expecting the horrid sour expression which flashed across Sam's face.

"Oh, dude, knock it off already," Dean snapped, wadding up a napkin to throw in his brother's face. "I can't eat when you're acting like that. It makes everything taste like lemons and engine oil."

"Dean, please, it can't..." Sam's voice trailed off as he studied his brother intently. "Really? Lemons and oil?"

"Dirty oil," Dean added with a significant glare at his brother.

"Huh." Sam sat back, seemingly contemplating the statement, while Jess watched the two of the in utter fascination. "All right, I'll try to watch it." He waved at the empty table between them. "At least while you're eating."

"Gee, thanks," Dean replied sarcastically.

Jess caught Libby's eye. "Do you have any idea what they're talking about?"

"No." Libby smiled. "I'm perfectly content believing it's a brother thing."

Jess returned the smile. "I like that. A brother thing." She nodded at Libby. "I can live with that."

"Food!" Dean sang out, drawing their attention to two servers bringing three large pizzas. He swept all unnecessarily items, like the napkin holder, salt and pepper shakers, and Sam's beer, out of the way.

"Hey!" Sam protested, spilling some of the beer as he rescued his glass.

Dean rubbed his hands together in anticipation as the first pizza slid on to the table in front of him. Not bothering to wait for the other pizzas to be delivered, Dean lifted a slice right off the round tray and bit into it. Libby laughed to herself as she silently asked one of the servers to hand her a clean plate.

"Here, Dean," she told him, holding the plate under his food. "This might help."

Dean nodded, his mouth too full to speak (for a change), and took the plate from her with his free hand to hold under his pizza slice.

Sam chuckled, helping the servers shift things around to fit all the pizzas on their table. Next he took the other clean plates to hand out to the rest of them so they could start eating. Once Libby and Jess had taken a couple of slices each, Sam helped himself.

"It's good to see that some things haven't changed." He nodded at his brother.

"Huh?" Dean had to tear his gaze from the third slice of pizza in his hands, half eaten.

"Nothing, Sweetie," Libby assured her boyfriend, patting his arm. "Don't worry about it."

The beaming smile on Jess' face was curious and made her wonder what brought it on. As she enjoyed her meal, Libby decided that maybe she imagined it. Jess and Sam seemed a little more relaxed than they had earlier. Jess wasn't even writing in her notepad, she focused on the conversation, which at the moment revolved around monster movies. Libby should have known Sam would have seen as nearly as many of them as Dean. They did grow up together, after all.


	88. Chapter 88:Stronger Than Blood

**Chapter 88 – Stronger Than Blood**

It was the dead of night when John parked at the Xavier Institute. Adam was out cold in the passenger seat and with the way his back was complaining after that drive there was no way he would be able to carry the boy inside. He hit the speed dial on his phone for Dean without thinking about it.

It rang over to voicemail. John called again. This time on the third ring Dean picked up. "Better be good," he growled in a half-awake, groggy voice.

"It's me, Dean," John said wearily, expecting at least a 'hi, Dad.'

"I know," Dean snapped. "You woke me up."

Damn. Cranky Dean. Just his luck. Maybe he should've called Logan. Never thought he'd say that.

"I'm in the garage," he said, running a hand over his face and noticing that he was so tired he couldn't quite bring the far wall into focus. "Adam is out and I'm in no shape to carry him."

"You're kidding, right?" Dean demanded. "You carried me to Hank's office, but a ten year old is too heavy?"

"You were unconscious and I didn't know what was wrong with you," John snapped, the memory of that night coming back with startling clarity, adrenaline pumping into his veins at the thought of Dean's sick still form. "There was no way in hell I was going to let anybody else carry you. Adam is just asleep. Besides, my back is killing me."

A deep sigh came through his cell phone. "Yeah, okay, all right. Sorry, guess I'm being cranky again, huh?"

That would be the nice way of putting it.

"A little." John tried to keep the growl out of his voice.

"Be there in a minute," Dean replied.

"Thanks," he said, then stopped himself. Checking his cell he saw that Dean had already ended the call. Brevity went hand in hand with cranky these days.

John had his and Adam's bags out and slung over his sore and aching back by the time Dean arrived wearing jeans and a t-shirt, barefoot. Barely pausing to give him a brief half-hug using only one arm, his eldest headed straight for the passenger door. Dean easily scooped Adam out of the front seat, cradling the boy's head on his shoulder, and left the door open. John waited until they were nearly out of the garage before closing the truck door, not wanting to wake Adam. Not having the energy to hurry to catch up, he lagged behind until Dean stood in the confusing hallways to wait for him. Then John trailed a few steps behind, his feet grower heavier with each step.

Dean took them to the room John typically slept in when he stayed here. He had been wondering if it was being kept for his use, but was reluctant to ask. He preferred to believe it was rather than learn for a fact it just still happened to be empty. Dean jerked his jaw at the closed door so John turned the knob and pushed it open. Dean walked in to place Adam on the bed furthest from the door. He removed the boy's shoes before tucking a blanket over his youngest brother.

Dean stopped in front of John before leaving and stared at him for a moment. Then he leaned in for a real hug. John returned the embrace, secretly grateful for it. When he released his first born, Dean left without another word. Sometimes speaking was overrated. John fell into the other bed, his eyes closed before his head hit the pillow, allowing all of his exhaustion to come to the surface. The thought about what a relief it was to be here, at the Institute, didn't even register as he let down all of his defenses and dove directly into a deep, deep sleep.

–

* * *

Sam woke later than he expected, the tests that doctor of Dean's put him through yesterday had been exhausting. Dean had promised he and Jess could eat all of their meals at the Institute for their entire stay if they wanted, which was a huge cost savings for them this trip. Sam worried about Jess catching a glimpse of some of the mutants showing physical traits, like Hank, but so far so good. Dean's girlfriend, and he had to admit they did act like a bona-fide couple, spent the entire afternoon with Jess yesterday and had offered to again today. It was actually a little concerning, how well those two were getting along. On the up side of it, however, Libby seemed more than capable of steering Jess away from seeing obvious mutations.

"You were right about Libby, Sam," Jess told him as they drove over to the Xavier Institute. "She is amazingly supportive of your brother. She even told me that she goes to lunch earlier now so she can make sure he has eaten. Did you know that Dean will pass out if he hasn't eaten in the last few hours?"

"Yeah, actually, I knew that," Sam muttered, concentrating on his driving.

"Libby has developed some interesting coping mechanisms," Jess went on. "She's taken up cooking as a hobby. Because of Dean's voracious appetite, she says she doesn't have to worry about if it tastes good, just if she made enough." She gave a short laugh over it. "I guess she has always been interested in cooking but never really had anyone to cook for before. Her last boyfriend thought she was wasting her time when she cooked."

"You're kidding," Sam replied, honestly shocked by the revelation. "What a jerk."

Jess shrugged, looking out the window at the neighborhood they were driving through. "Something about her time being better spent on her job."

Sam snorted, making a face that would no doubt ruin his brother's appetite. "Sounds like something my dad would say."

"I can't believe he's that bad," Jess argued. "Especially after what you told me about your reunion over New Year's."

"Well, maybe he's changed," Sam hedged. "A little." He needed to be in a better mood before they arrived or he would definitely ruin Dean's next meal. "Can we talk about something, anything else?"

Jess sighed, avoiding looking at him. "What kind of tests is the doctor planning on running today?"

Measure expended energy levels in an isolation chamber while he and Dean 'worked' on each other, which he was looking forward to, attempt to make a simple diagnosis on complete strangers and rate his accuracy, and it seemed like there was something else happening today. What was it?

"Probably more stress tests," Sam replied with a shrug. "I hope so, I'm not sure I have any blood left for them to take."

She chuckled and reached over to give his thigh a squeeze. "Oh, baby," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. "It'll be all right."

"Of course it will," he snapped, his tone harsher than he expected. He waited for Jess to chew him out for snapping at her but her hand remained on his thigh rubbing consolingly.

As they pulled into the circular drive in front of the Xavier Institute, she spoke again, "I'm looking forward to meeting them."

"Who?" he asked distractedly, assuming she meant the doctor, his mind racing for a fresh excuse not to introduce her to the blue beast.

"Your father and half-brother," Jess replied. "They should be here today, right? Isn't this the other reason we came?"

No. He came to check Dean out in full once and for all. Period.

"Is that today?" Sam glanced at her as he put the rental into park. "I thought it was tomorrow."

"Today," she replied firmly. "You're attempting avoidance again."

"Yes, doc," he teased with a smile to soften the rebuke.

Dean raced down the front steps as if his brother had been standing by the window watching for their arrival. He grinned and waved, looking strong, healthy and larger than life. Sam had to smile at the sight.

"That's better," his girlfriend said, giving his leg a strong squeeze. "Come on, Libby's promised me an exclusive peek at the new collection she's putting together."

"Don't get too attached," he warned. "It won't last."

"Shut up." Jess tossed him a nasty glare before giving his brother a winning smile and opening her door.

A puzzled expression flickered over Dean's face before settling into a disarming smile. "About time," he called out. "I had to bribe the kitchen staff to wait on you two."

"Sorry," Jess called back, slamming her car door. "We overslept."

Dean rocked up on the balls of his feet a couple of times, grinning. "Hope it was fun."

"Dude, shut up," Sam snapped, but hearing a typical Dean comment like that put him more at ease than any test or doctor assurances. His brother laughed aloud at him and the burden he typically carried on his shoulders felt lighter.

"Come on, get the lead out," Dean said, motioning to the mansion. "Hank's waiting for us."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam muttered, although he was looking forward to today's tests. "I think he has a thing for human pincushions."

Dean chuckled, his eyes bright and lively.

"Dean, isn't your father and half-brother supposed to be here today?" Jess asked. It made Sam wonder if she was really looking forward to meeting them or if she was trying a little avoidance of her own regarding his medical issues. It was killing her not to be able to sit in on the tests.

"They came in real early this morning," Dean replied. "Hank suggested we put off the introductions until after I've had lunch." He glanced at Sam. "Just in case."

"Why not during lunch?" Sam suggested.

"Just in case of what?" Jess asked.

"Ah, his metabolism," Sam began, his mind racing for a good explanation, "it's linked with stress. The higher his stress level, the higher his metabolism."

"Uh, yeah," Dean added, "and if Dad, Sam or Adam start acting like an ass, which every one of them is capable of..." He pressed a hand against his chest and made a pitiful face. "They could hurt me."

Sam rolled his eyes and used both hands to shove Dean into the cafeteria. "Jerk," he accused to Dean's light chuckle.

"Oh, don't be such a little bitch, Sammy," his brother laughed, picking up a tray before handing one to Sam and picking up a third for Jess. Then Dean froze as he held out Jess' tray. She had this horrid expression on her face, a cross between extreme fear and sudden understanding. "Jess?"

"Did you say stress?" she asked quietly. "Your condition was brought on by stress?" Her deep blue eyes flickered between the brothers. "Because Sam's been having some issues with stress lately."

Dean shrugged his shoulders and Sam felt that static tingle race across his skin, but it was lighter than usual, as if a huge ball of static electricity rolled by him instead of over him. "That's what today's tests are about," he said in a smooth promising voice which had Sam almost believing it, "those panic attacks. Hank has some concerns about those too. If Sam says it's all right, Hank is going to call up that professor he's been seeing at Stanford to discuss stress reducing techniques."

Jess blew out a breath, Dean's simple explanation seeming to be all she required as a full assurance.

Dean focused on him. "Dude, gotta warn you, Hank likes meditation. If you're not doing it already, just get ready for it."

Then his brother shoved the tray into Jess' hands, breaking her out of her stupor. She let out a soft sigh and whispered, "Good. I was starting to worry."

Thank you, Dean, Sam thought. Maybe he could ask his brother to soak Jess in good feelings while he gave her his 'results' from all of these 'tests'. Actually, yeah, Dean would probably go for something like that.

They loaded their trays, the kitchen staff cleaning up from breakfast as they left the line. Dean led them over to the only table with someone sitting at it. Sam did a double-take when he recognized Professor Xavier.

"Professor," he said, holding out his hand in greeting after setting down his tray. "I don't think you've met my girlfriend, Jess." He nodded to her as the school founder shook his hand.

"I have not had the pleasure," Xavier replied, holding out his hand to her next. "Jessica, is it? Charles Xavier."

"He's the boss," Dean put in, sitting with them, "so say wonderful things about me."

Xavier chuckled, a smile gracing his face. "Dean, do you ever stop?"

Dean shook his head, shoveling in a spoonful of scrambled egg. "Can't. I'll pass out."

Xavier chuckled again, shaking his head, before focusing on Jess.

Jess appeared a little intimidated by meeting 'the boss' as Dean put it. "Very nice to meet you," she said with a polite nod of her head.

Xavier returned the nod before releasing her hand. "I was having a conversation with our dear Librarian this morning about you. She seems to have taken a liking to you."

Jess smiled brightly. "Libby is very nice. She's helping me find some material for a research project I have coming up."

"Speaking of research projects," Xavier said, the smile unwavering, "I have one of my own. It's a bit of a blend of a psychology and sociology project. May I tell you about it? I am hoping you can provide me with some insight."

"Really?" Jess sat up a little straighter.

"Yes." Xavier's smile became a little wider, more sociable and endearing. Sam wondered how he did that. Maybe Dean was doing it for him? A glance to his right at the suspicious look on Dean's face nixed that theory. "A certain televangelist has been in the news lately and I've heard that your family follows his teachings rather closely."

Jess groaned dramatically and she slouched over, her elbow landing on the table with a thump and her chin hitting her palm as a look of utter resignation came over her. "Please tell me you're not talking about that moron Stryker. I swear, I don't think I can handle hearing any of that crap this week, it's too stressful." She waved a hand at him and his brother. "I'm actually glad we're too busy with Sam's tests to go visit my parents because I just don't think I can handle discussing The Mutant Menace."  
She made air quotes when she said it. Sam nearly fell over in relief. He had been wondering how to bring this up without appearing to take sides in order to find out how she really felt about it. It was strange how well Xavier had managed to do just that.

"Oh, no, my dear," Xavier assured her, the smile unwavering. "I don't care to discuss the nature of his preachings." Jess' brow wrinkled and the ends of her mouth tilted down. "I would like to know if you have any theories as to why anyone, such as your family, is drawn to listen to him."

"Oh." The wrinkles in her forehead deepened as she pondered the question. "I've been asking myself that for a couple of years now and I really don't have a good answer. I think it's one of the reasons I chose psychology as a major." Her mouth twisted to one side, her lips pressed tight. "It's really my father; he's the one who likes what Reverend Stryker has to say. The rest of us just go along with it."

"I see," Xavier replied, his full focus on Jess. "Yet you have never felt the urge to rebel against it?"

"Oh, no," Jess said quickly, shaking her head. "It's easier to just listen and put up with it. Daddy doesn't like it when people don't agree with him, especially his own family. Besides, what's it hurting? It's not like The Mutant Menace really exists." Her eyes rolled dramatically.

"Indeed," Xavier said with a significant look at both him and Dean. "I have some work to do in my office. Jessica, it has been most interesting meeting you. I hope we have another opportunity to chat before you must leave."

"Thank you, sir," she said with a smile.

Professor Xavier backed away from the table, his motorized wheelchair spinning in place to turn him around before leaving the cafeteria with a gentle humming of its electric motor.

When the three of them had finished eating, Dean took them over to the school library where Libby had commandeered one of the study rooms just for Jess. She had a stack of books waiting and a clean notepad. They greeted each other like old friends. Sam wondered if the friendship would last longer than Dean's 'relationship' with this woman.

"After they wake up, Dad is going to bring Adam to meet you and Hank," Dean announced once they were outdoors.

"Who?" Sam asked, distracted by his wandering thoughts of what uninterrupted time to check his big brother's biological systems would be like.

The slap to the back of his head was unexpected but not shocking. "What?" Sam demanded, rubbing a hand over the spot. "What'd I do?"

"Adam," Dean snapped. "Our brother?"

"Oh, right," Sam muttered, still rubbing the back of his head.

"Stop it," Dean said with an exaggerated wave of his hand. "It's not like I really hurt you."

"Yeah?" Sam challenged. "How would you know?"

Dean stopped to look him in the eye. "Because you can't hide injuries from me either."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam demanded.

"I can feel when you're in pain." Dean's hand lifted to smack him over the left ear. "That doesn't hurt." His big brother started walking toward the mansion again.

Sam jogged a few steps to catch up. "You can feel what I feel physically?"

"Not everything, just when it's really strong. Like pain," Dean replied. "And you have to be close by. At least in the same room."

"Is it the same for everyone?" Sam asked. "Can you tell when anyone around you is in pain?"

"Uh, no," Dean said hesitantly, cluing Sam in that there was something else, probably a big something else, his brother was holding back. Could it be that same something else Dean didn't tell him yesterday?

"Why not?" he pestered. "What's different about me?"

"You're my brother."

Sam rolled his eyes. He wasn't getting anywhere this way. "Will I have to ask Hank or are you going to tell me the truth?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he reached for the heavy door to the mansion. He followed Sam inside. "It's, well..." Dean hedged. "It's embarrassing."

"What is embarrassing?" Sam demanded. He was just about at his limit with this stupid conversation.

Dean shot him a hard look. "You're getting out of whack again already? Great. What the hell are you going to do when you go back to school? Rely on those stupid pills?"

"If I have to," Sam snapped. He took a deep breath, held it for a count of five, then released it slowly. Feeling a little better, Sam tried again. "What is embarrassing?"

"You should practice that more," Dean said, punching the down button on the elevator which would take them to the underground tunnel system. He could feel his blood pressure rising with the suggestion. "No, seriously, Sam. Don't get mad about it. The meditations Hank is always going on about really do help."

"Oh, don't tell me," he whispered.

"Every morning and every night," Dean confirmed with a nod. The elevator doors opened and he jerked his head at Sam to move it. Sam moved it. If Dean actually admitted to needing to meditate then things were a bit more serious than he already assumed they were.

"You know I'm going to keep at it until you tell me," Sam insisted as the doors slid closed. "You might as well tell me."

Dean sighed heavily, hands going in his front pockets as he glanced around the otherwise empty elevator. "It has to do with being a stupid empath," he replied with a snarl.

"And?" Sam prodded. The doors opened on to the below ground level. Dean led the way again, Sam hurrying to keep up.

"Not here," Dean hissed, eyes cutting to each side as if there were invisible people around spying on them.

Actually, that was a good question. Where there any mutants who could be invisible? Now he was starting to feel like Mister Moore, worrying about The Mutant Menace around every corner, except he was a part of it. Sort of.

"Is there anyone who can turn invisible?" Sam asked, taking a really good look at the walls and doorways they passed, hoping to spot a difference in the air or in color which would indicate A Mutant watching them.

"Oh, dude, invisible, walking through walls, floating, light shows, laser eyes, teeks, telepaths, ice, fire, storms..." Dean shook his head. "You and I are tame by comparison."

"I guess so," Sam muttered. "What about your, uh, girlfriend?"

"Stop saying it like that and I might tell you," Dean replied with a hard look at him.

"Like what?" Sam asked. "I was being nice. I haven't said one bad thing to her or about her since we arrived, have I?"

Dean shook his head, opening the door to Hank's lab. "Maybe not, but you still don't like her and it's starting to piss me off."

"It's not that I don't like her," Sam argued, pulling the door closed behind them before following Dean through the lab. "I just don't see it lasting."

"And what?" Dean demanded. "You don't want to get attached? Is that it?"

Sam shrugged, knowing it was a weak answer but hoping it would be enough to satisfy his brother. His big brother paused outside the door to the isolation chamber, just kind of staring at the wall for a moment.

"We bond," he said.

"Who bonds?" Sam asked, wondering if this was still about Libby.

Dean's head turned, their eyes locking, and Sam could feel, he could actually feel how serious this discussion was. "Empaths bond with people who are important to them. The more important, the stronger the bond." He waved a hand between them. "You can tell I'm serious, can't you? You know I'm not lying. You can always tell when I am lying, right?"

Slowly Sam nodded, the implications barely starting to filter into his brain. "How strong is your bond with Dad?"

Dean sighed, head tilting back as he rolled his eyes, like he had been dreading this one. "Strong enough that he can't lie to me, I can pick up his emotions if they're strong enough up to a mile away, and I always know if he's been hurt, even if it's a splinter. Want to hear about you now?"

Full of both hope and dread, because of their time apart which Sam had been responsible for inflicting on them, he nodded.

"I'd bet even money that I can taste your bitchface for miles," Dean said. "There is no one else I would even try realigning their emotional state because I'm sure I wouldn't be able to do it. Sammy, right now you top the list."

"Even..." his voice cracked and Sam needed to clear his throat. "Even after I left like that?"

"You're my brother," Dean stated, simple fact. "That's never changed." One eyebrow arched. "Am I lying?"

Sam shook his head. He had always had the uncanny ability to know when his brother lied. Dean held up a finger while reaching for the door to the isolation chamber with the other hand. "You know when I'm lying because of the bond. It kind of goes both ways." With that, he jerked the door open.

Stunned, Sam required a moment before following into the isolation chamber. Both ways? What the hell was that supposed to mean? As he pondered what Dean could mean by that, Hank's voice came over the speakers in the room instructing them to sit in the chairs provided.

"Caramel," Dean muttered, taking his seat.

"What's caramel?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced up guiltily, as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "Your curiosity. It always tastes like caramel. Libby's is more like cotton candy."

"Mine has more substance," Sam declared, grinning when he saw how much it annoyed Dean.

"Or maybe hers is just more academic," Dean replied.

"Gentlemen?" Hank asked through the speakers. "Whenever you two are ready to begin."

"So what is this both ways business?" Sam asked, laying his arms on the small table between them, hands open and palms up.

Dean scooted closer to the table, placing his forearms over Sam's hands, grasping Sam's arms below this elbow. Sam held his brother's arms the same way. "Hank? You wanna explain the bonding stuff to Sam?"

"Empaths bond with individuals who are of significant importance. The stronger the bond, the clearer the empath can read emotions and the clearer the empath's own emotional state becomes to the other. Are we ready now?"

Dean closed his eyes, stretched his head from side to side popping his neck, and let out a deep breath before nodding.

"Unless there's more to it?" Sam asked, looking at Hank through the glass wall partition.

"With your brother, there is almost always more," Hank replied. "It appears when he bonds, the individuals he bonds with have some immunity to having their perceptions altered. However, they are more likely to pick up on his emotional state and can always tell when he is lying, which I find most curious."

"Why?" Sam asked, rather curious himself.

"Hey, are we doing this thing or not?" Dean demanded, eyes opening. He released Sam's arm to check his watch. "We only have two hours before I need to eat again."

"First, Hunter, have you ever had this much time to use realigning your brother's emotional state?" Hank asked.

"I don't think so," Dean replied.

"Sam, how about you? Have you ever had this kind of time while healing your brother?" the furry doctor asked.

"Without worrying about being caught? No." He shrugged. "But I have needed hours and hours to fix stuff."

"Then I would ask you both to take your time, do not hurry. There is no pressure for results, no need. There is nothing actually wrong with either of you," the doctor continued. "With this in mind, whenever you gentlemen are ready, please begin."

Dean turned away from Hank to focus on him. "Kind of weird, huh, Sammy?" he whispered.

"Kind of," Sam replied. "But I think I like not having to hide it any more."

A thin grin appeared on his brother's face. "Me too. All right, let's see how big of a mess you've made of yourself." His face blanked as he closed his eyes. Sam felt the strong hands grasping his arms heat up. Not wanting to waste this golden opportunity, Sam closed his eyes and focused on the air going into his brother's lungs, the paths it traveled.

–

* * *

Hank checked his readings again, making notes continuously in his notebook. Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. The energy readings from each brother were nearly equal, which he would never have thought. The expended energy went from one brother into the other, resulting in a minimal net loss from either. This he had suspected. The longer they were 'fixing' each other, the lower the levels of expended energy. The brothers seemed to be nearing an equilibrium.

Checking the time, he noted it next to his observation. While making a calibration adjustment, the door to the observation room opened admitting Professor Xavier.

"Doctor," the Professor intoned, rolling into the room. "How are the tests coming?"

"Most interesting," Hank replied making another note. "Before Sam must return to school I believe I will be able to prove a symbiotic relationship exists between these brothers." He made a tsk-ing noise. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" the Professor asked, pulling up alongside him. "Why unfortunately?"

"Because Sam's emotional health, which ultimately affects his physical health, is heavily dependent on Hunter's interference. Hunter is capable of resetting his brother's emotional state, keeping Sam in balance. I also suspect the real reason Hunter's mutant gene never became fully active until recently was due to Sam. Look at these readings." He tapped the end of his pen on the energy monitor. "They are the most reasonable yet, almost within the normal human range. I would be willing to bet that if I run a similar energy test on just Hunter at the end of the day I will find similar energy levels." He sighed, shaking his head. "These two should not live on opposite coasts."

"That is unfortunate," Professor Xavier agreed. "I wonder if we could entice Samuel to attend a university closer to the Institute?"

Hank chuckled at the suggestion. "Would it not be more in character for Hunter to move?" The pen moved rapidly across his notebook as he jotted down new readings. "Sam is already on an academic scholarship which fully covers his tuition. The monies sent to him because of Hunter pay for the extras which he can live without, and I suspect he is still in the dark regarding the true nature of his Xavier Institute scholarship."

"Highly unfortunate," the Professor said. "Must you tell them?"

"Do you want a repeat of the blood test incident?" Hank demanded, pausing in his work to hold Professor Xavier's gaze.

"Not particularly," Professor Xavier replied with stern face. "Besides, I don't care for almost everyone here feeling annoyed with me because Hunter's emotions are leaking. Surely there are strategies these boys can employ so they may live apart. Expecting two people to live close to one another for the rest of their lives is rather unreasonable. Not to sound morbid, but what if one of them were to be killed in some kind of accident? What then?"

"An excellent point." Hank returned his focus to his observations. "Yes, perhaps the rest of the week would be better spent on developing coping strategies for them. Hunter, being aware of the demands on his body and his limitations, has already been successfully employing a number of them. Sam will be more difficult. His issues are emotional."

"What is that?" Hunter's voice came through the speakers in the observation room. "Sam? Are you doing that?"

There was no response from Sam, he did not even stir as Hunter readjusted his grip on his brother's arms. A deep frown creased his face and his brow furrowed.

"That's not right," Hunter murmured. His eyes flashed open and he shook Sam by the arms. "Sam!"

Sam's eyes opened slowly, as if he were dragged from a deep sleep or a deep state of meditation. "What?"

"What were you doing?" Hunter demanded, but his tone was softer now, calm.

"Oh, uh..." Sam blinked slowly a few times, his puzzled expression fading. "Telling your lung tissue it was doing a good job. You know, fixing the scars. Why?"

"You didn't notice anything strange?" Hunter asked in the same calm, safe tone.

Sam glanced around the isolation chamber. "No. What happened?"

Hunter released his brother's arms, turning in his chair to face the observation room. "Hank? You need to run a new blood test."


	89. Chapter 89:It's All In The Blood

I know this is going to sound weak – but I thought I already posted this chapter. Sorry! Here it is and the next one is nearly ready so there won't be a long wait for it.

**Chapter 89 – It's All In The Blood**

"Oh, come on, Dean! I'm not going to have any blood left!" a male voice whined from behind the clinic door.

Adam cast his father a questioning look. Dad nodded before reaching for the door knob. "Get used to it," he whispered. "Remember, you wanted to come."

He sighed, following Dad into the clinic as his brother Dean's voice, harder than Adam had ever heard it, gave somebody a serious lecture.

"We need to know what this is, what's causing it. You are not going to take some damn pills for the rest of your life, Sam. Not if I can help it." Dean stood in front of a guy who was even taller than Dad. Whoa. Dean had his arms crossed over his chest and a look on his face Adam wouldn't dare say 'no' to. The other guy, the really tall one, rolled his eyes like he was the one being annoyed by Dean, not the other way around. Wow. It looked like a Mom lecturing an older kid, right down to the expression on Dean's face. The tall guy had to be Sam.

"Dean, if it were that serious don't you think I would have noticed?" the tall guy asked with a huff.

"Noticed?" Dean demanded, his voice louder and tone sharper. "I think you notice every damn time you can't breathe, you moron."

"Hey!" the tall guy's cheeks flushed red and his eyes widened. "That's completely unrelated!" He glared at Dean, not backing down even a little at the nasty look on Dean's face.

"Prove it," Dean replied in a steady voice. "Let him do the test."

The tall guy threw his head back, shaggy brown hair flipping around, and groaned. "Fine. I'll do the stupid test. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Dean muttered, his gaze only now drawn to Dad and Adam. He shot them a quick smile. "I thought we were meeting you in the cafeteria?"

The tall guy whipped around and looked a little guilty now, but probably just because he had been caught arguing, not for the argument itself. Adam knew the type. Dad held up his arm and tapped on his watch. "You're late, bud. Lunch started fifteen minutes ago, so we decided to come get you."

"Go eat," the tall guy insisted, shoving Dean towards Dad. "I'll catch up after the stupid test."

"We can stay and make sure," Dad offered, one hand on his shoulder. Adam had hoped to go with Dean but that hand was there for a reason, to keep him here. Rats.

Dean grinned. "I like that idea. I'll save all of you a seat." His big brother greeted Adam with a huge smile and a tousle of his hair before leaving.

"This is a pretty cool doctor's office," Adam said, taking a good look at all the equipment. That was another thing he knew a lot about, doctor's offices. It was one of the side-effects of having a mom who was a nurse. He would guess Sam not only knew a lot about hunting demons and things but also about cars and girls.

"Thank you," a calm educated voice said. Adam turned to see who was talking and stopped in his tracks. "Mister Winchester, is this Adam?"

His eyes felt like they might pop right out of his head. The person speaking wasn't a person. It was a mutant, had to be! Blue fur. Black claws. Gold eyeglasses? Holding a clipboard?

"This is Adam," Dad said, shaking him by the shoulder. "Son, don't be rude. Shake Doctor McCoy's hand."

Doctor McCoy. Why did that sound familiar? Without moving another other body part, Adam looked at Dad for an explanation.

"This is Dean's doctor, I told you about him," Dad said while squeezing his shoulder.

"Oh. Right." Adam forced his arm to lift so he could shake the furry...hand? Paw? Doctor McCoy's touch was shockingly gentle but he could still feel the raw strength behind it and the experience was a little frightening and totally overwhelming.

Both hands on his shoulders, Dad turned him to face the tall guy. "And this is your brother Sam. Sam, say hello to Adam."

"Hey, Adam." Sam kind of sighed when he spoke, like he had been dreading this as much as Adam had.

"Hey, Sam," he replied, not moving, no offers to shake hands or anything.

"Sam, I'll have to draw a little more blood for the new test," the furry blue doctor said.

Sam rolled his eyes again before rolling up his sleeve. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, settling down to sit on one of the exam beds.

"What's this test for?" Dad asked and he sounded pretty worried, which was weird coming from Dad.

"Nothing," Sam stated with a sour face. "It's Dean's idea."

"I am to look for any non-human trace elements in Sam's blood," Doctor McCoy said. "Sam, after lunch, during your brother's usual appointment time, I would like to see both of you. We need to discuss the results of this morning's test."

"Usual appointment time?" Sam asked, eying the doctor suspiciously. "What kind of usual appointment does Dean have? Are you giving him injections or something?"

The furry doctor opened a drawer to pull out a tray filled with everything he needed to draw blood except the vial to fill. The next drawer had a supply of those in different sizes. "No, nothing like that, I assure you," the mutant doctor said. "It's his therapy time."

Sam's eyes bugged out and he looked a little pale. "You're kidding." He sounded disgusted.

"What's wrong with that?" Adam demanded, rising to his big brother's defense. Dean wasn't even here to stand up for himself.

"Nothing," Dad said, squeezing his shoulders again. "It's all right, Adam. I'm sure Sam didn't mean it the way it sounded. He's in therapy too, back at school."

Adam nodded silently, watching intently as the furry mutant doctor drew Sam's blood. It was really cool watching something that looked like a movie monster acting and doing things like a regular human doctor. He couldn't figure out how the doctor was able to work so efficiently with those claws, but McCoy did. Then he noticed that Sam was staring at the mutant doctor, eyes focused and intense.

"Is there a question, Sam?" McCoy asked, pressing a wad of gauze against the site of the puncture inside the crook of Sam's arm.

"You're Dean's therapist?" Sam asked slowly, the whole idea apparently taking time to sink in. Guess he was as hard headed as Dean and Dad said. McCoy nodded, holding the vial of blood up to the light and peering into it. "Did you tell him to write those letters?"

It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Dad's strong hands on his shoulders gripped uncomfortably tight as a moment of silence encased the room. Adam found he was holding his breath though he wasn't sure why. It felt like the answer to this question was crucial.

"I made the initial suggestion," McCoy said, still sounding very calm and in control. "Dean mentioned to me recently in order to avoid hanging up on you, that he had returned to writing letters. I believe he also commented that he could not be interrupted this way."

"Sam is bad about that," Dad put in.

"I am not!" Sam blustered, pink creeping into his face. He turned to McCoy, the monster doctor, again. "I don't like the letters. He needs to call."

Doctor McCoy stared Sam right in the eye. "I do not tell your brother what to do, Sam. If you take issue with the letters, I would suggest discussing it with him. However, if he does return to phone calls, it may mean that you will have to deal with being hung up on from time to time."

Sam made a sour face and said nothing, holding the wad of gauze in place while McCoy put the tape around Sam's arm.

"How about you?" Sam asked, nodding at Adam. "Do you talk to Dean on the phone?"

"We are really late for lunch," Dad interrupted, using his hands on Adam's shoulders to push him towards the door. "I'm starved. Adam, you won't believe the food here. It's not your average cafeteria. And the desserts are great."

"So he does call Dean, huh?" Sam's voice came from beside them as Dad hustled him out of the doctor's office.

"Drop it, Sammy," Dad said, the warning clear in his tone.

"No," Sam replied simply. "Adam? How often do you talk to Dean? On the phone?"

Adam glanced back at Dad who still used both hands on his shoulders to push him down the hall. He did not understand why Dad was being so strange about this. Then Dad sighed and nodded. "Go head, tell him."

"On Sundays," Adam told Sam.

"You talked to Dean on the phone last Sunday?" Sam asked. "About coming here to meet me?"

"Well, yeah," Adam admitted, "but I meant that we talk every Sunday."

Sam stopped right there in the hall, giving Adam the strangest look. "You talk to my brother Dean on the phone. Every Sunday?" He stood there like he would wait until Adam answered, so Adam nodded. "How many times has he hung up on you?"

"Never," Adam replied with a shrug.

Dad's hands on his shoulders gripped tighter, however, instead of hurting, Adam felt like it was more of a protective move, like Dad was ready to move him out of the way if Sam went tearing down the hall. That was when it hit him. Sam might not really be the jerk he seemed to be at the moment, he was jealous. Sam was jealous because he was having to share his mom, probably for the first time in his life. Adam could identify with that. Until a few months ago he had been an only child too and as far as his mom was concerned, he still was. How would he feel if he suddenly had a little brother or sister who expected him to share his mom? Maybe he was talking to Dean too much.

Running a hand through his hair Sam gave off a half-hearted laugh. "Wait for it, kid. That'll change." Then he nodded towards an open door with lots of voices spilling out into the hall. "Come on, I'll show you how this place works."

Dad kept one hand on his shoulder as they entered the huge room which looked like a school cafeteria, complete with the long tables, lots of kids, and a hundred loud voices all trying to talk over each other. Adam followed Sam to the line where he was given a tray. Sam explained how the food here was part of the program, which he noticed was not explained, and that seconds and even thirds were allowed.

When they left the line Sam headed directly for the table on the far side where some adults were eating. Adam figured it for the teacher's table. And yes, there was Dean! Libby was sitting beside him and talking to a very pretty woman on the other side of the table. Dean turned and waved at them. Libby spun in her seat to give Adam a huge smile.

"Adam!" Libby called out, patting the place next to her. "It's good to see you. Come sit here!"

Adam sat next to his brother's girlfriend while Dad and Sam sat with the pretty blond woman.

"Have you met Jessica yet?" Libby asked, motioning to the knock-out. Adam shook his head "Adam, this is Sam's girlfriend Jessica. Jessica, this is the youngest brother, Adam."

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, Adam," Jessica replied with a gorgeous smile. All Adam could do was smile in response. His brain seemed to be taking a vacation at the moment.

"John Winchester," Dad's voice broke the spell, shaking him out of his stupor. One of Dad's big meaty hands reached over Sam to shake with Jessica. "Good to meet you."

"It's very nice to meet you, sir," Jessica told Dad with the same amazing smile. "I hear you all had such a good time over New Year's that it may become a regular event?"

"Did you?" Dad asked, looking confused for a moment. "Well, we'll see."

"Can I come next time?" Adam asked, seeking out Dean's permission.

"Oh, relax, you pest," Dean said with a grin. "It's only Spring Break now. Bug me about it later."

"On Sundays?" Sam asked, his gaze trained on Dean.

"Huh?" Dean appeared startled. "What does... Oh. Yeah, maybe." He shrugged. "So?"

"Dean, you and I don't talk every week," Sam said and he sounded like he was trying to start an argument.

"Sam, Libby found some of the best references for me," Jessica interrupted. "You would not believe how resourceful she is. We were looking over one just this morning which had a case study that reminded us of you and Dean."

"It doesn't matter," Dean declared, cutting through all the conversation at the table. Adam noticed that even the teachers sitting at the other end stopped talking to listen. The noise level in the cafeteria dropped as the nearby tables went quiet, attention riveted to them.

"Why not?" Jessica asked, her smile unassuming and sweet.

"Because," Dean said, no longer needing to raise his voice to be heard, "Sam and Adam are two different people. Sam and I grew up together. There are things between us that don't concern anybody else. Period." He pointed down at Adam with his eyes locked on Sam. "He's still growing up and he's lucky, he has a mom to look out for him. But being a single parent is hard so if I can help out occasionally, with a phone call and a little advice, I'm happy to do it."

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, Adam imagined he could see the gears whirring behind that shaggy haircut. Then he asked, "Does anybody have a pen?"

There was shuffling among the people at their table until Dad produced a pen from his pocket. Sam took it and pulled out his wallet. After rummaging in it for a moment, he found some kind of business card. He flipped the card over revealing its blank side to write on it. Then he handed the card out to Adam.

"That's my cell," Sam said, waving it in the air in front of Adam's face. "Dean is in class a lot, so if something comes up and you can't get him, you can call me."

"Really?" he asked as he reached out for the card. "You mean it?"

"When Sam says things like that, he means it," Dean replied firmly, pride in Sam shining on his face. "You can count on it."

"Don't lose it," Dad cautioned, "I'm not sure I have that number."

Sam made a nasty face at Dad. "It hasn't changed."

"Does that mean I can call it too?" Dad asked. "You know, if I can't call Dean?"

Adam wasn't sure what to make of that until both Dean and Sam laughed at Dad. They rolled their eyes at each other, some kind of inside joke he guessed, and laughed harder.

"They are laughing at me," Dad across the table to Adam. "Right?"

"Pretty sure," Adam replied under his breath.

"Good." Dad nodded, seemingly satisfied. "You know you can call me too, right?"

"Sure, Dad," Adam said with a shrug. "No offense, but Dean's a lot easier to get on the phone."

"Amen," Dean added from down the table. The noise level in the cafeteria began to rise back to normal levels.

"Then maybe you should text me," Dad stated to the table at large.

Dean paused in eating, a rarity, to stare their way. Sam's jaw dropped.

"Y-you know how to _text_?"

"Smartasses," Dad mumbled to himself, returning to his lunch. "Must be my fault. They're all smartasses."

"Mister Winchester?" Libby broke in. "The book you wanted to borrow arrived this morning."

"Good," Dad rumbled, "I'll come with you after lunch to get it."

–

* * *

Dean watched Sam's knee bounce nervously while they waited for McCoy to show. Sam peered around the office but his brother did not seem to be taking any of it in. Nervousness, some anxiety, and fear flooded the room, leaving an acidic bitter taste in the back of Dean's throat. He swallowed futilely against it.

"What do you think of Adam?" Dean asked, trying to take his brother's mind of the test results they were waiting for.

"Well, uh, he seems like a good kid," Sam replied with a shrug, his eyes darting rapidly to the door every few seconds.

"He is," Dean assured him. "If he calls, what are you going to do?"

Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping and his knee settling. "I'll talk to him. What do you think I'm going to do?"

Dean held up both hands, warding off the verbal reprimand he could feel building in his brother. Now this was the Sam he remembered and knew so well. About damn time. "Hey, just asking."

"I'm guessing he's been tested for this mutant gene too?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "First thing Dad asked Adam's mother to do after he found out about mutants, in case he was the carrier."

"Is he?" Sam asked, some of the caramel curiosity overshadowing the bitter anxiousness.

Unsure whether Sam was asking about Adam being a mutant or Dad being the carrier, Dean decided to answer the question both ways. "Adam doesn't have the gene and neither does Dad. That doesn't rule Dad out as a recessive carrier but Hank figures we inherited it from Mom."

"Really," Sam breathed. His emotions had been bouncing all over the place, but now they settled into a lump of...chocolate. What the hell tasted like chocolate?

"Mom." Sam sighed, closing his eyes and lowering his head to bury his fingers in his hair.

Mom tasted like chocolate?

When Sam lifted his head, revealing the sorrowful expression on his face, Dean understood. Regret tasted like chocolate. "I'm glad. I hate to be this way, Dean, but I am glad it's just you and me. If we're both mutants because of Mom, so be it. Adam may be a good kid but I doubt I'll ever think of him the way I do you."

Oh, crap! Chocolate and peanut butter? It was a chick-flick feast!

"Dude, come on," Dean protested. "There's going to be enough of that after Hank gets here. Knock it off."

"No," Sam insisted, sitting up straighter. "Look, Jess has been making me think about things, well, about you. About our relationship and what I want out of it."

The door opened with a gentle protest of the hinges and Hank, still in his white lab coat, ambled into the room. Saved by the monster doctor.

"Excellent," he said in his gentle voice, "hold that thought, Sam. Just let me grab my notes." Then again...

Sam groaned, the look he was giving Dean promised they would be picking this up later. Alone. Too bad little brother was in for an unpleasant surprise. If Sam wanted to talk about what he wanted from their relationship, Dean would prefer for Hank to be there when it happened. His doc had a real good head on his furry shoulders.

Hank settled his massive bulk into the large armchair positioned to face both of them with grace and ease. He rested his notebook on his leg, pen at the ready.

"Sam?" he asked. "I believe you were about to tell Dean what you expect from your relationship?"

Sam shook his head, his knee starting that damn bouncing again. "Nah, that was about something else. You must have misunderstood. What are my test results?"

"He'll tell you after you tell us," Dean replied, cutting off any response Hank may have had. "What do you want from me, Sam? What do you expect?"

Sam shot him a hard glare. _We'll pick this up later._

Dean returned it. _We're doing this now. Period. Or you don't get the other thing you want._

Stubborn Sam had to keep trying. _Not in front of strangers, Dean. Later._

_Now. _ Dean folded his arms over his chest to emphasize how serious he was.

Even before Sam sighed in defeat, he could feel his brother caving. "Fine," he sighed, shaking his head, "but it's going to make me sound like a moron."

"No one is here to judge you, Sam," Hank assured. "And we are well aware that emotions are not logical. Please, tell us."

"When I left for school..." Sam sighed again, shaking his head, more chocolate pouring out. Dean knew it was not for going to school, just for being so damned sneaky about it. "When I left, I did not expect things to change. I really thought it would all be exactly the same when, if, I came back."

Dean knew there had to be more to it than that, so he waited. Hank fidgeted briefly, glancing between the two of them, before asking, "What things, Sam? What was supposed to be the same?"

"Dad and Dean." This time Sam addressed Hank. "I never thought, never believed, they could change. I know that's stupid, but it was how I felt. I had tried for so long to change things, to not move around constantly, to make friends I wanted to keep in touch with, to play sports instead of learning hunting skills, to actually care about good grades..."

That last one rankled and Dean shot his brother a hard look over it. He had always, always helped Sam with homework, gone to the stupid school open houses, seen every damn play or competition his brother had been in. Where did Sam come off saying-

"Not you, Dean," Sam said quickly, interrupting himself, his shaggy hair billowing as his head snapped to the side to meet Dean's hard gaze. "I was just saying 'things', I wasn't talking specifically about you."

"So you did not believe things could change while you were away," Hank summarized, waving a furry claw in Dean's direction. He was not happy about dropping it, but Hank was right, the time for their session was limited. It might be spring break but Hank still had lots to do. Plus there was a X-Men mission happening out there right now. That was where Logan was. The instant Logan found out both Sam and Adam would be here he signed up for the next mission and made damn sure it was scheduled this week.

He shrugged at Sam, allowing the topic to revert back to what Hank wanted.

"No," Sam replied, casting a worried glance at Dean, the bitter taste of anxiousness returning. "At least, not this much." He sighed heavily. "That's not true. I honestly didn't think they would change at all. I expected to even be able to walk back into that shithole apartment we lived in when I left and find their stuff."

"You went back?" Dean demanded, startled. "When?"

"The first summer after I left," Sam admitted, the chocolate bitter now. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You went all the way to Colorado to see if we were still there?" he demanded. "And you didn't freaking call?"

"One of my roommates was from Colorado," Sam explained. "We both had summer jobs but he had promised to visit his parents and wanted someone to help drive. We made arrangements with our jobs and went as soon as school was out." His knee started bouncing again. "We crashed at his parents' house for a few days and watching him talk to his parents, tell them stories about school and people he knew, I guess I kind of felt..."

"Homesick?" Hank suggested. He made a note on his pad.

"Yeah," Sam replied in a half sigh. "So I borrowed his car and found that apartment. It was empty. I talked the manager into letting me in so I could look at it. I don't know what I thought I would find but there was no sign any of us had ever lived there."

"How did that make you feel?" Hank asked.

It was all Dean could do not to roll his eyes. Feel, feel, feel. Hank needed to invent some more interesting questions than that.

"Disappointed." Sam ran a hand through his mop of hair and shrugged. He shifted in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. He cast Dean a guilty look. "That was when I realized I would have to call if I wanted to see you. And I didn't know if I could." He bit down on his lower lip. "Because it would mean apologizing."

The taste of chocolate was heavy and bitter, like that baker's chocolate stuff. Stunned, Dean could only sit there and listen.

"Apologize for what?" Hank asked in his unassuming, gentle tone.

"Dad and I had this fight," Sam replied slowly. Dean felt like he might drown in bitter chocolate. "Some of the things I said..." He shook his head, his shaggy hair whipping his cheeks and forehead. "Honestly, before I started seeing Doctor Melton, I didn't realize how bad they may have sounded to Dean. At the time I thought I would have to apologize for leaving and going to school. Now I know I should apologize for all that...stuff...I said." His gaze met Dean's and locked in, unwavering, steady, sincere. "I was mad at Dad, not you. You were the only consistent thing in my life up to that point and I took it for granted. I've really..."

Sam chewed at his lower lip before continuing.

"I miss not being able to talk to you and I hate those letters."

"But you said-" Dean started to defend himself, wanting to explain that this was the only way he could control not hanging up on his brother, but Sam interrupted him. As usual.

"I know and I don't care. If you hang up on me, you hang up on me. I'll call you again later or the next day, after you have some time to cool off," Sam replied. "I can promise that."

He felt Hank looking at him now too. "All right," Dean said warily, "but if you start getting mad at me again..." He let the threat of letter writing hang in the air.

"Excellent," Hank declared with a toothy grin, sharp white teeth against the backdrop of deep black lips and blue fur. He would be a great character in a monster flick. "This is a good beginning. Shall we discuss the lab results now?"

Dean felt his insides clench with anticipation as he watched his furry doctor pull out several pages. Had it been good news, he was certain the good doctor would have started off with it instead of making them wait. Hank flipped through the papers to find a specific one.

"As Hunter suspected, there are non-human elements in your blood, Sam." He scratched behind one ear using his pen. "The problem is I am having difficulties determining what these elements are. The readings are very strange."

"Strange how?" Sam asked, leaning forward on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees.

"Here." Hank held out the page to Sam. "I do not know if any of it will make more sense to you, but I can assure both of you I will keep researching."

Sam took the paper, his emotions ranging from curious to frightened as he read through the list. Then they all went on lockdown, just as absolute as Dad's could.

"What?" Dean demanded, reaching out to take the list.

"No, um, I don't think..." Sam began but Dean was not going to tolerate any more avoidance crap. Meeting issues head-on was the only way to resolve them. He snatched the page out of his brother's hand to read for himself. Most of it was medical gobbelty-gook until one line caught his eye 'sulfur content'.

"Sulfur?" Dean demanded. "Is this for real?"

"I ran it twice," Hank replied. "What is the significance of sulfur?"

"Demons," Dean replied. "Demons always leave a sulfur residue. You know, fire and brimstone."

"Oh." Hank frowned, his fur wrinkling around his mouth and eyes. "I do not believe Kurt will appreciate that."

Dean shrugged, studying the page in his hands, searching for more clues. "I think we should send a copy of this to Bobby. He'll know what to look for."

"Sam?" Hank asked. "Do I have your permission?"

"To send it to Bobby?" Sam replied. "Yeah, sure. But how can there be demon residue in my blood? That doesn't make sense."

Dean handed the page back before looking his brother in the eye. "We'll just have to figure it out. And after we've figured out how and why, we'll find a way to fix it. At least now I know what was fighting me."

"Hunter?" Hank leaned forward to draw his attention. "Fighting you?"

"Sam's out of whack emotions," Dean explained as calmly as he could even though he felt like freaking out, "they have to be related to this. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"That being the case," Hank reasoned, "do you think practicing meditation will help?"

"Uh, guys?" Sam lifted a hand in the air to wave at them. "Still in the room here."

His little brother was under demonic influence? How? Why? For how long?

"Any idea how long it's been there, Hank?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam.

"No." Hank placed the test results on his desk. "There is no way of telling. However, considering the fact Sam is a mutant and a large number of our students are experiencing dreams of fire and a yellow eyed demon trying to convince them to do horrible things, I feel school-wide blood tests to be in order."

"Starting with Bobby and Kitty?" Dean requested. "It'll be the first thing Logan asks about when he comes back."

"You know I do not believe in playing favorites," Hank chided, "but I can start with them. Especially if you bring them by later today."

"You got it." Now he looked at his brother. "Now that that's settled, ready to learn the basics of meditation?"

"Are you sure it will help?" Sam asked warily, feeling distinctly disgruntled.

"Can't make it any worse," Dean pointed out. "Can it?"

Sam groaned. "All right, big brother. If you say so."

It was the first time in a very long time he had heard that particular phrase. Without knowing it, his lips curled up in a pleased smile and he had the strong desire to trap his brother's head under his arm to roughly tousle that mop of hair.

"Go ahead, Hank. We're ready."


	90. Chapter 90:Last Day of Spring Break

**Chapter 90 – Last Day of Spring Break**

No holds barred mutant football was more fun than Sam could have imagined. The worst part was keeping Jess out of the way, but Libby was handling that. Now Libby, she was simply an amazing individual. What she was doing with the likes of Dean was beyond him.

That sounded terrible, Sam chided himself, watching the opposing line for a hint to their next play. The kid who had run away, Bobby, was on his team and was their best 'runner'. Bobby could slide for yards on icy feet across the field. Any time he had the ball, Sam passed it off to Bobby. None of the kids would tackle Dean, so his big brother was relegated to officiating.

What was his real problem with Libby, he wondered. She was certainly nice enough. She looked too much like an old fashioned librarian or one of the kindergarten teachers he had had as a kid. She was not flashy, slutty, or any of the things he had come to associate with Dean's "type". But were those things really his brother's preference? Or did they indicate a woman available for a one night stand?

Clearly they were not Dean's type, not if he was dating this librarian woman.

The ball was snapped and the other team surged into action. Sam ran for the two he was defending against, watching Adam from the corner of his eye doing the same right beside him.

Adam. Little brother. Now that was weird.

Maybe the only weird part was that there was only one. Dad was no saint. Sam had no illusions about that regardless of what Dean seemed to think. Doctor McCoy had even insisted he and Dad have a private session with the doc, without Dean, to clear the air. It was halfway through the session when Sam realized the session had nothing to do with McCoy's concerns over his and Dad's relationship, the mutant doctor was only concerned with how it affected Dean.

Sam took a blow to the back of his knee, sending him sprawling across the grass while one of the guys he was supposed to be guarding leaped over him. Damn it. He scrambled to regain his footing, a stabbing pain shooting through his calf when he put weight on it. Sam ignored the pain to rejoin the game. Several other members of his team were already after the guy, who was a receiver for the other team. Sam tore after him, counting on his long arms to at least tip the ball away from being caught.

Adam darted in front of Sam as Sam was gaining on the receiver. Too late he realized he would run the boy over. Sam tried to adjust his headlong pursuit but the kid was already underfoot. Raising his arms, he tried to leap over Adam and roll away on the other side. The kid managed to tangle himself up in Sam's legs anyway, pulling both of them to the lawn in an inglorious heap. From his back, he craned his neck to see the action. The other team's receiver had the ball and was running for a touchdown but there was a white streak in the air, headed for the ball. Sam grinned when he understood what was happening. He reached down where Adam was trying to disentangle himself to tap the boy on the shoulder and point it out. Adam watched with a confused expression until the receiver dropped the ball with a yelp. When the ball hit the ground the clear coating around it cracked, revealing that it had been frozen.

Bobby Drake swooped around the receiver on an ice slide like he was on a skateboard, one hand darting out to snag the ball.

"I might be starting to like him," Sam admitted to Adam.

Adam chuckled, pushing off the ground to stand over him and hold out a hand. "I wouldn't blame you if you never liked him."

Sam grasped the offered hand even though he tried not to use Adam too much in leveraging himself to his feet. When he checked on the play, Bobby was underneath a number of other boys a few yards from the goal. Dean was barking at the kids, pulling them off Bobby.

"Why is that?" Sam asked, tearing his gaze from the action.

"My mom is awesome," Adam stated in the kind of tone Sam would never dream of arguing with, as if he had any right or reason to contradict that statement. "I don't think I could ever share her. It's bad enough she's a nurse and takes care of people for a living. There are days I can barely stand that." He nodded at Dean pulling Bobby to his feet and giving the kid a brief check to see if he was hurt. "Heck, watching the way Dean is with Bobby kind of makes me jealous, I can't imagine what it's like for you."

Dean turned their way, almost as if he could hear them. He waved an arm in the air at them. Sam waved back that they were all right.

"Come on," he said to Adam. "We have the ball and I think we have a first down."

Sam lost track of the score after a few more plays. Watching these mutant kids with outward abilities, like Bobby's ice and Joe's invisibility and some other boy's ability to literally leap high enough to clear people's heads, was simply amazing. A tiny voice in the back of his mind told him he should be frightened or disgusted. It sounded an awful lot like Mister Moore. Sam ignored it, shoving his concerns to the back of his mind and choosing to enjoy himself, this time with his big brother.

They met with Hank for one last session before he left and then he and Jess went out to dinner with Dean, Dad, Adam and the current girlfriend. Despite himself he was starting to like her and hoped she would not be too crushed when Dean dumped her.

It was a busy day packed with people and activities yet that statement Adam made about not blaming him for being jealous stuck with him, riding around heavily on his shoulders for the rest of the day. As he packed he turned it over in his mind, analyzing each word without success.

"Sam?" Jess moved to his side, her fingers pushing his hair from his face. "Baby, what's wrong? We're just going back to school."

"I know," he replied with a nod, tossing a stack of shirts in his bag. "That's not it." Jess was the psych major, she would undoubtedly have a dozen theories about what Adam said.

"What's bothering you?" She perched on the bed next to their bags, her legs crossed, gaze focused on him like he was the only person in the entire universe who mattered.

"While you and Libby were out touring the local museums with Mister Summers, we had a little game of football," Sam replied, shoving more clothes in his bag.

"Yes, you mentioned that," she said. "And?"

"Adam said the strangest thing and it's been bothering me," he admitted. Sam picked up his bag to drop on the floor so he could sit next to her. "I mean, it's really been bugging me."

"About football?" Jess asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, it was about Dean. He told me that he didn't blame me for being jealous."

She studied him for a moment before shrugging one shoulder. "That's nice. Why has it been bothering you?"

Raking his hand through his hair, he met her gaze. "Maybe it was the way he said it."

"Then tell me how he said it," she requested. "Word for word if you can."

He nodded, replaying the strange conversation in his head. It was the first part that bothered him the most. "First he told me that his mother was awesome and she's a nurse, which makes him jealous sometimes because she takes care of other people for a living."

"Which is not an uncommon reaction," Jess observed. "Especially for an only child."

"He said he doubted he could ever really share her. Then he said watching Dean with that Bobby kid made him a little jealous so he couldn't imagine what it was like for me." Sam frowned, staring at the wall over Jess' shoulder. "Now what was that supposed to mean? What it was like for me?"

"And he prefaced this talking about his mother?" Jess asked, one hand waving in front of his face.

Sam forced himself to look at her. "Yeah. Weird, huh?"

"Weird," she agreed, taking on the serious expression which always meant she thought she found a key item. "His mother." Jess chewed at her lower lip, her brow furrowed and her eyes distant.

"Sam?" she asked, not looking at him, her focus some point on the floor. "That picture of your parents in your apartment? When was it taken?"

"Before I was born." He shrugged. "Heck, it may have been before Dean was born."

"Are there any more recent?" she asked.

"Of both of them?" Sam replied. "No, I doubt it."

"Tell me about your mother," Jess requested.

"What does she have to do with this?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know," Jess replied calmly, her gaze slowly refocusing on him. "But I've heard Adam talk an awful lot about his mother this week so he clearly thinks the world of her. For him to preface a statement about you being jealous of time Dean spends with other people by mentioning her must be significant at least to him. So tell me about your mother."

Sam stared back, unflinching. "My mother would have nothing to do with something being significant to Adam. Now would it?"

Her brow creased again and her head tilted to one side. "Avoidance? Really? Why?"

How did she always manage to back him into a corner? He could refuse to answer, granted, but this was stupid. "I'm not avoiding it, I just don't see what it would have to do with Adam."

"Then tell me about your mother," Jess insisted.

"She's dead."

Both of her eyebrows lifted, more in question than in surprise, silently asking him for more.

"She died when I was a baby," Sam continued, trying to decide exactly how much to tell her. "She was uh..." Honestly he did not think either Dad or Dean would appreciate him mentioning all of the circumstances, especially to Jess. He pulled out his cell. "Give me a minute."

Sam called his big brother's number.

"Forget something?" Dean's voice asked when his call was picked up.

"No," Sam replied. "But Jess is asking about Mom."

An irritated grunt sounded over the phone. "You don't want to lie to her but you don't know how much to tell her, right?"

"Right," he said while Jess watched him with a fascinated, curious expression.

"Is she in the room?" Dean asked.

"Right in front of me," Sam confirmed.

"Figures," Dean muttered. He sighed. "I should have seen this coming. All right, hang on. Let me get Dad."

Jess opened her mouth but Sam waved her off. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Just a minute. Dean's getting Dad."

Her eyes widened and her eyebrows pulled together, creating a thick line between her eyes at the top of her nose. If he wasn't on his phone he would be tempted to take a picture, she looked so adorable when she was all concerned like this.

"Sammy?" Dad's voice blared into his ear. "Here's what you tell her: Nothing."

"Dad!" Dean snapped in the background. "Knock it off! We talked about this."

Dad's low growl came through loud and clear. "Fine," he sighed after a moment. "In that case, you say your mother was murdered and our house set on fire to cover it up. Better?"

Sam couldn't tell if the question was for him or Dean. "I just wanted to be sure it was all right with you and Dean before I told her anything."

"If she starts asking questions you can't answer, have her call me, son," Dad said in a gentle tone, one he had heard only on occasion when they were kids.

"Thanks, Dad," Sam said. "Talk to you soon?"

"Just call," Dad replied. "Now I need to hit the sack. Long drive tomorrow."

"Where are you headed?" Sam asked.

"First I have to take Adam home and then Nevada," Dad said. "Got a lead on a chupacabra. Already had Xavier confirm no mutant activity in the area so it's all mine." He sounded pretty pleased.

"Good luck, Dad," he said sincerely. "I wish you weren't going alone."

"Sometimes I work better that way," Dad replied. "Bye, Sammy."

"Bye, Dad." He closed his phone slowly to toss beside Jess on the bed as he met her pretty blue eyes, which bore intently into him. "Do you really want to know about my mother?"

She did not speak, opting to nod her head once. Slowly. He could see in her eyes the apprehension, the uncertainty in asking, but it was not in her to back down.

Sam cleared his throat nervously. He had no idea how this information would affect their relationship. Not that it should, but it would be stupid to assume it couldn't.

"When I was a baby, my mother was murdered. In our house. In my room." Her jaw went slack. "Then her killer set fire to my room to try and cover it up. The three of us barely made it out."

The silence following his announcement was stifling. It was a heavy weight on the whole room, a force settling on every surface, pressing down with its magnitude. It was a lifetime before Jess blinked her watery big blue eyes at him and tried to clear her throat.

"I can see..." Her voice cracked with heavy emotions, although Sam did not understand why. It hadn't happened to her mother. She closed her eyes to take a deep breath.

"I can see why you had to call." Her eyes opened slowly and she stared at Sam as if she had never seen him before. "You told me once that your father left for work almost constantly."

Sam nodded. He had given up months ago trying to figure out the logic behind her questions. There was definitely logic there, Jess was far too smart and too good at deciphering hidden meanings and subtle causes for there not to be, but he could not follow it. Usually it gave him a headache to try.

"How long would he be gone?" she asked.

Good question. Delving deep, Sam tried to come up with an average time gone for Dad, but the nature of hunting was as erratic as the creatures they hunted. Finally he shrugged in defeat. "It varied. Might be a few hours, might be a couple of weeks. I think the longest was three weeks."

"Three weeks," she breathed, the line between her eyes forming again, deeper and more pronounced this time. "Dean was with you?"

Sam nodded. Of course Dean was with him during those times. Once Dean started hunting with Dad, Sam had had to tag along, staying out of danger in the car, or remaining by his brother's side where Dean could 'watch out' for him. As he grew older he had learned to hate that phrase.

Jess lowered her head, burying her face in her hands. "A minute," she mumbled through her fingers, "just need a minute."

Still seated next to her, Sam lifted a hand to rub her back, wanting to console her. Jess seemed too emotional right now, as if learning his history were tearing her apart. Which was ridiculous, it happened so long ago. She was acting like it had happened this morning.

When he could see her face again there were tear streaks down her cheeks but she was not crying. Jess cleared her throat and swallowed hard before attempting to speak. "Sam. I'm sorry, but I have a couple more questions."

Continuing to rub her back, he nodded at her.

"Do you have any idea how old you were when your father started leaving you and Dean alone? I assume he didn't always have sitters for you two."

"There were times he left us at Pastor Jim's or Bobby's," Sam replied. "Sometimes other people he knew, but most of the time it was just me and Dean."

"How old, Sam," she pressed.

He shook his head. "I don't know, I'd have to ask. They said I could call if you had any questions I couldn't answer. Want me to?"

"Maybe." She chewed at her lower lip for a moment. "Does it seem like your father just started leaving you two alone, or does it seem like it was always that way?"

"Always," he replied instantly, not considering how that might sound to someone outside his family.

"Was there anyone to make dinner? Check your homework?" Jess asked. There was a level of anxiety in her voice he could not figure out. "Tell you to take a bath?"

"Sure. Dean always looked out for me. Why?"

"Dean," she repeated with a frown. "Dean made you take baths?" She sounded like she didn't believe him. Wasn't she an older sister? Didn't she make sure her little brother took his bath, did his homework, came home from school safely every day? Why was Jess acting like this was strange?

"Every day," he confirmed, giving her a quizzical look. "He even let me lock the door until I flooded the bathroom. I think I was five." Sam chuckled. "I don't think he let me lock the bathroom door again until I was fifteen."

"If you wanted to play at a friend's house, who did you ask?" Jess asked. The note of anxiety had been replaced with her typical curiosity. Sam preferred this to the other worried tone.

"Dad. We weren't allowed to go to other people's houses unless he was home," Sam replied. "But..." He glanced around as if Dad could catch him finally admitting this and he found his voice dropping to a whisper. "Sometimes Dean let me anyway."

"Dean let you," she repeated, the deep furrows smoothing out and a pleasant expression appearing. "You know, I think Adam is a very bright boy. He'll go far."

"Really?" Sam asked. "Do you think you figured it out?"

"I think I have," Jess replied slowly, her head tilting slightly to one side. "But I'm not sure I should tell you. You're a little...weird...when it comes to Dean."

The hand rubbing her back stilled as he stared into her deep blue eyes. "I'm weird," he repeated slowly.

"When it comes to Dean," Jess repeated. "Just about Dean. You're a little strange about your father, but not like you are with Dean. And now I think I understand it." A smile appeared. "Now I know how to handle it."

"Handle it," he said, stunned. "You know how to handle me?" Sam withdrew his hand from her back, staring at her, unsure if he had noticed this side of her before. He was starting to see what Dean had been warning him about.

"Sam!" Jess snapped, slapping him lightly in the shoulder. "No, not handle you. Handle how moody you get when Dean upsets you. I've been using the wrong set of tactics."

"The right set being..." He glared, hoping the force of his stare would make her tell him whatever-the-hell was going on in her enigmatic head.

Jess actually looked guilty. "Promise you won't get upset?" She placed a hand on his knee. "I'll tell you if you don't get mad and start ranting and raving."

"I'm almost there now," Sam admitted. "I really think you need to tell me."

Her lower lip disappeared under her front teeth again as she chewed on it, her gaze darting across his face. "All right. I promise to tell you, but I think if you answer a few questions you can figure it out for yourself, and maybe you'll take it better that way." She gave him a hopeful look. "Is that all right?"

"As long as we're doing this now," he insisted. "I'm not going to play games all evening."

Jess shook her head. "Okay, you said when you were a kid, the person who made you take your baths, checked your homework, and gave you permission to play was..." She held out her hand, indicating Sam should answer.

"Dean," he said slowly, wondering how much of a headache this stupid thought exercise would give him.

"When I was a kid, the person who made me take a bath, checked my homework and gave me permission to play was..." Again Jess wanted him to answer.

"Your parents?" Sam guessed. She was the oldest so she would not have had older siblings to look out for her.

Jess nodded. "Now Adam. Who do you think was, and is, that person for him?"

"His mother," Sam replied instantly, not waiting on the annoying hand to wave at him.

"Did anyone ever read stories to you at night?" Jess asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nah. Bedtime stories are for wimps."

"That sounds like something Dean would have said," she observed.

"He did," Sam chuckled.

"But he made sure you went to bed, didn't he?" Jess said.

He knew she was guessing now. "Sort of. We never had a set bedtime. Heck, I'm not sure Dad even cared if we went to school, he just used it like a sitter. Dean made sure I got up on time, went to school and was in the right class, stuff like that."

"My mother always tucked me in and read a bedtime story. She woke me up for school every morning and made sure I brushed my teeth and hair before I went to school."

He felt more relaxed now, like they were swapping stories. "Dean never cared if my hair was brushed until some teacher mentioned to him that our mother should be ashamed of herself for letting me out of the house with wild hair. That really pissed him off. After that he insisted on brushing my hair every morning until I started beating him to it. He said no one was going to talk bad about Mom." He chuckled, the fond memory returning with startling clarity. "Dad actually went up to that school about a month later, to pull our records because we were moving again. They made him go talk to my teacher before they would release my records. Dean and I were both with him."

Jess was watching him curiously, her hand squeezing his knee.

"The bitch had the nerve to ask why our mother didn't come up there because she had some concerns about me." Sam snorted, shaking his head in disbelief, even after all these years, of the stupid woman. "Dad leaned right into her face and said, in a real deep voice, 'She's dead. Sam's fine. Now give me his damn records.'"

He sighed wistfully. "I wish he'd done that every time, but he couldn't."

"He couldn't," Jess asked. "Why not?"

Sam groaned, shaking his head. "Oh, Dean stopped talking to everybody but me for almost a month after that." He frowned. That had been a bad month. "I think it was at least two weeks before he'd say more than 'yes,sir' to Dad." He met Jess' confused gaze. "Dad and I came to an agreement not to talk about Mom being dead with strangers after that."

"Hey!" Sam brightened as he looked to Jess for the elusive answer. This had been a mystery to him since it happened. "Any idea why Dean did that? I mean, it was really weird. And that month totally sucked."

"I would only be guessing," Jess replied slowly. "But Sam, do you understand now why Adam said those things about you and his mother?"

Okay, fine, whatever. He could do this. He filed away his unanswered question about Dean to the back of his mind for later, he wanted some kind of answer, even if it was just a guess. Sam started with Jess' weird questions. Who made him go to bed? Technically – no one. Who woke him up every morning for school? Dean. Who made sure he went to school, did his homework, brushed his hair, yadda-yadda? Dean. Adam's mother did all of that for him. In Jess' family it was usually...her...mother...

His gaze snapped to her and his eyebrows lifted. "You have to be kidding. Adam thinks Dean is my mother? That kid is insane."

"Maybe," Jess replied slowly, "but Sam, I've seen you two together now and I can see where Adam is coming from. When your mother died, it was Dean who stepped up to fill the void, not your father. He has a point."

"Dean is my mother," Sam scoffed. "Oh, now that is rich. Maybe you need to be seeing a therapist instead of studying to be one." Maybe he wouldn't ask her that question about Dean and The Bad Month again after all.

"There's no need to lash out," Jess chided. "I told you that I didn't think you'd react well to it. Plus, you don't exactly behave like Dean is your brother."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sam demanded, barely resisting the urge to knock her hand off of his knee. "He's my big brother! I act like it!"

"That," Jess replied calmly, her eye a placid blue. "That is not a typical little brother reaction, at least, not from an adult younger brother. You're defensive, secretive, and jealous. You worry about his health constantly even though you had no reason to before a couple of months ago. You're still upset that he has 'changed'." That last part sounded sarcastic and Sam grit his teeth. "Sam, you're even whinier around him. You act like he's one of your parents instead of your big brother."

"Whinier?" Sam spouted, latching on to the most recent insult.

"He is." Jess kept looking at him, calm and cool. The hand on his knee gripped tight. "He is one of your parents, Sam. And it's all right. There's nothing wrong with it. It's just the way your family is."

While he was trying to understand exactly what she meant by that, Jess gasped and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh my gosh! You said he didn't like me. What'd I do? Can I fix it?"

"When Dean was just my pain in the ass big brother you weren't worried about offending him," Sam said, "but now you're worried?"

He stood, shaking off her attempts to touch him. Sam grabbed his phone from the bed before marching outdoors. Flipping it open he hit the call button.

"More questions?" Dean asked, sounding concerned and competent and reliable and everything Sam had come to expect from his Big Brother.

"Adam thinks you're my mother," Sam snapped. "I need a beer."

"No he doesn't," Dean snapped back. Then, in the background, "Adam, hey! You don't think I'm Sam's freaking mother, do you?"

Sam waited for the answer.

"Meet you at the blues club," Dean replied in a stunned tone. "I need a beer too."

–

* * *

John trailed his eldest child into a blues club. It looked like the kind of place Dean would enjoy with loud live music, women dressed provocatively, and plenty of beer. Sam was sitting at a table in the corner, as far from the band and dancefloor as possible. Without a word they joined him. There were only two beers on the table, John assumed Sam did not think he would be coming along, so he flagged down a server to order his beer.

"I take it this is about the mother thing?" he said in a loud voice to be heard over the music.

Both boys nodded as they reached for their beers. As if they had practiced moving in perfect sync, they drank from their glasses simultaneously, setting them back on the table at almost the exact same moment.

"I am not his mother!" Dean protested, hands slapping the table. "This is stupid!"

"Right," Sam agreed instantly, his head bobbing up and down, hair flying in and out of his eyes. "Stupid." One hand pointed to his brother. "He's my big brother. Period."

"Right!" Dean slapped the table again, the force of the blow sloshing his beer over the lip of his glass.

John waited until after his beer arrived to speak. "Adam has a point."

The fact both Dean and Sam had almost the exact same eye color had never really occurred to him before, not until now, with identical twin stares focusing on him. John rubbed his palms against his pint glass, the condensation slick and cool.

"What point?" Dean asked while Sam looked on.

John sighed. He had been thinking about this a lot since his conversation with Adam on the drive here, to the point he had been debating with himself on whether or not to mention it to Hank. Discussing it with the boys had not been an option in mind, not until now.

"When your mother died, she left a hole in my life," he replied. Both boys leaned in closer to hear him better but John lacked the ability to raise his voice. This was hard enough. "In all of our lives. It was a hole I didn't even try to fill, I thought it couldn't be done. I honestly believed that I needed to see that hole every day."

He sipped at his beer. The boys were quiet, studying him with an intensity which made his stomach lurch.

"I thought that hole would remind of us of what we were missing, what had been taken from us," he tried to explain, dropping his gaze to the beer so he wouldn't have to see his boys' reactions. "So I didn't step up. But, uh..." John shot his oldest a guilty look. "But Dean did."

Dean simply blinked at him before asking, "I did what?"

"You stepped up," John replied, lifting his glass to his lips. This time he took a long swig before placing it back on the table. It required an effort to look his son in the eye but Dean deserved this, he needed to know how important and truly remarkable he was. "You filled that void, son. You may have just been a little guy when it started, but you saw what we needed, what we were missing, and you have always done your damnedest to provide it." John reached across the table to grasp his son's shoulder. "I've probably never said this, but...Thanks."

When he turned his gaze on Sam, his younger son sat there with his mouth hanging open and his eyes so wide he resembled a cartoon character.

"You'll catch flies," John warned. Sam's mouth snapped shut but his eyes remained wide open and staring at John.

"Wha-what are you saying, Dad?" Sam asked after a strained moment.

"That in a lot of ways, Dean isn't just your big brother," John replied, trying to keep his tone steady. "Sam, did you know that there are a lot of people, a lot, who can not stand their older brothers? And it's not because they have overbearing, overprotective brothers, it's because their older brothers don't give a shit about them." He shook his finger at his younger son. "You don't know how good you've had it, son."

"I didn't," Sam replied slowly, "but I've been learning." His gaze flickered over Dean. "Honest, Dad."

"Good." Dad nodded in approval while Dean looked between the two of them in disbelief. "Drink your beer, son. Gettin' warm."

Dean turned to look in search of something. John grabbed his eldest by the shoulder and clamped his hand tight. "Don't. Just the beer. You're fine."

Dean rolled his eyes as he turned to face them again and picked up his beer. "Gooey," he muttered into his glass before taking a sip.

"Gooey?" Sam asked, leaning forward on the table with both arms. "What's that mean?"

"Me." John smiled at his younger son and allowed all of his emotions about how glad he was to be here with both of them, at the same time, to flow freely. "When I'm around Dean, I try to keep an image in my head of when he was two, carrying around his toy firetruck-"

"Dad!" Dean hissed, cheeks growing red as his eyes darted from side to side.

"He had a toy firetruck?" Sam asked, looking and sounding intensely curious, more than John remembered his younger son being in quite some time. Had they never discussed what Dean had been like before...before the fire? "What else, Dad?"

Dean's head lowered all the way to his arm which rested on the table. His head rolled from side to side, in total disbelief of this entire conversation no doubt.

"What else would you like to know?" he asked Sam. "I'll answer any question you have about your big brother here." He shifted his hand to rub Dean's shoulder. The embarrassment they were causing his oldest was regrettable but this conversation was long, long, long overdue.

Sam cast a decidedly guilty look at Dean as he posed the question, "How old was Dean when you started leaving us alone together? Without any adult supervision."

"Too young," John admitted, finding it impossible not to feel insanely guilty and embarrassed over his poor parenting. An image flashed in his mind of Dean at the tender age of six, standing in the bedroom door of some cheap motel room leaning a shotgun up behind the door. Dean grunted and his head kept rocking from side to side. John ran his hand over his son's head and wondered if the embarrassment he was experiencing was really Dean's leaking out. "Six," he said on a sigh, fully expecting a well deserved chewing out for it.

"Six," Sam repeated softly, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression of concern. "Six."

Lifting his beer to his mouth, Sam's head tilted back and he chugged his pint down. Dean's head lifted to watch, a pained expression on his face. John caught Dean's eye and gave his eldest a questioning look. Dean frowned and shrugged as he sat up. At least he wasn't hiding now.

Sam's glass hit the table with an empty clunk. "Jess is worried that you don't like her."

"I barely know her," John replied. "Why doesn't she think I like her?"

"Not you," Sam said on a sigh. He jerked his chin at Dean.

"You told her?" Dean demanded. "You idiot, why'd you tell her? And why would she care?"

"You don't like her?" John asked, shocked. "I thought you said she was hot?"

"She is hot," Dean replied defensively. "Her family though." He rolled his eyes. "Man, what freaking morons. They watch Stryker."

"Oh." John shrugged. "That's a relief."

Dean shot him a dirty look. "Relief?"

"No one is perfect," John tried to explain. "It's a relief that her big flaw is her family watches some idiot televangelist." He met Sam's gaze and grinned. "Go for it, son."

"Did..." Dean appeared guilty and he cleared his throat before trying to speak again. "Did Mom have a big, ah, flaw?"

John's smile was wide and genuine. "She married me. I think that says it all."

"How about Libby?" Sam asked as he chuckled, his body language going from tense to loose and easy.

"She's the biggest damn klutz you ever saw," Dean replied with a huge grin. "And it's so cute. Even the Colonel thinks so."

"Colonel?" he asked in concert with Sam.

"Is that another, uh, instructor at the school?" Sam asked in his almost subtle manner.

"Libby's father," Dean replied, meeting John's eyes. "Don't worry, he's retired."

"Army?" he asked. Dean nodded. "Full bird?" Another nod. John shook his head and whistled, reaching for his beer. "Good luck, son."

"I think he likes me," Dean told them, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"He should," Sam grumbled.

John turned to flag down a server. Sam needed another beer.


	91. Chapter 91:Return to Danger

**Chapter 91 – Return of Danger**

Sam's cell went off first, Jess looking for him. No surprise there. Then Dean's cell went off with an Institute number. He assumed it would be Libby checking up on him. Logan's voice was the last sound he thought he would hear tonight.

"Kid, where the hell are ya?" was the demand.

Dean shot Dad a worried look. "Logan? What's wrong?"

"I said, where are ya?" Logan repeated in the tone Dean tried not to argue with, no matter how freaking annoying it was.

"The blues club," he replied. "Why? And when did you get back?"

"I'll be there in five minutes. Don't move," Logan snapped before the line went dead.

"Uh, I think Logan's coming," Dean announced.

Sam rolled his eyes, listening to Jess on his phone. He made a face and waved it off. Dad lifted an arm to order another beer.

"Not too much longer," Sam was saying to Jess. "Soon, baby." He hung up and slid his phone into his pocket. "I've been meaning to ask about Logan." Sam spread his hands face up on the table. "What kind of, you know, is he?"

Dad had a smug look on his face. "Try indestructible."

"No wonder you like him now," Sam replied with an eyeroll and a huff.

"Ease up," Dean chided. "I like him. He's a good guy."

"Listen to your brother," Dad advised, "he has great taste in people."

"Especially when they're indestructible," Dean added with a knowing look at Sam.

Sam snorted a laugh before he peered in disappointment at his empty glass. As if on cue, their server swooped in with four fresh pints, taking the empties away. A blast of very familiar irritation, so constant on a normal day that he found himself missing it for the last week, came from the front door. Dean waved the man entering the club over to their table, pointing out the waiting beer.

"Thanks," he grunted, pulling up a chair between Dean and Dad, clearly avoiding being near Sam. "Time ta go back, you know."

Dean frowned at his friend. "What for?"

Logan grunted again and made a sour face in Sam's direction. "You and your girl probably should spend the night at th' Institute, too."

He could feel how much effort it took for Logan to say that. Knowing how Logan felt about "that Sam-brat" much less Jess, Dean could not imagine what would bring this on.

"Why?" Dean asked again. "What happened?" A cold chill crept down his spine and he glanced around the club. Not good. All the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight out. "Feel that?" he whispered.

Logan nodded. So did Sam. Dad had a funny look on his face but all he did was shrug. Sam frowned and glanced around. "Someone leave the door open?"

Dean shook his head. "Think about it, Sam," he said. "When was the last time you felt like this?"

Sam shrugged, his brow furrowing. "Maybe the last time I was...hunting?"

"We need ta go," Logan muttered urgently, eyes darting around the club. "Ain't safe."

"Jess?" Sam's eyes went wide with fear as its sour flavor ruined the taste of the beer. Dean pushed his full beer aside.

Logan's mouth opened, no doubt with some kind of nasty retort, when Dean interrupted with, "Let's go check on her."

He threw some bills down on the table, enough to cover their tab, while surreptitiously checking out the rest of the club. The cold chill had settled into his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck were twitching horribly. Dean had the feeling they would be lucky to escape the club. There were maybe a half dozen other people here and he recognized none of them. His regular waiter rushed over when they were all standing to leave.

"Something wrong?" the waiter asked anxiously, lemony bitterness mixing with the already sour flavor in the room.

"Any of these people regulars?" Dad demanded to know.

The waiter shook his head. "I don't recognize any of them, but I don't work every night either."

"Not good," Dad muttered under his breath. Silently Dean agreed.

"You're kidding!" Dad boomed in a loud voice, causing all heads to turn their way. He threw an arm over Logan's shoulders. "Now this I have to see! Come on, boys!"

Before they made it across the room three of the strangers moved to go stand in the way of the exit. Damn. Dean looked back to see two more blocking the back exit to the alley. One person, a striking woman with long blond air, hand on her right hip which jutted out with attitude, stood before them in the center of the club. She glared up at the ceiling and the stereo system gave a screech before dying out. Silence settled over the club, an eerie absence of sound. Dean grabbed his favorite waiter by the collar to pull the kid behind him.

The woman wore clothes which could have come from a spray can, they were so tight. When she smiled the cold chill in his skin dropped to subzero temperatures.

"Aww, isn't this sweet?" she asked in a mocking voice. "The Winchester clan, together again." A nasty expression crossed her face and Dean felt like he ought to jump in front of his little brother, to protect him. She blinked and a black film coated her eyes, coal black and reflectionless, a mirror of nothing. Then she sauntered slowly around them, checking them out one by one.

Dean slipped one hand in his pocket to grasp the small vial of Holy Water he always carried.

"Don't even think it, Dean-o," she stated, her slow measured gait unchanged as she chastised him. "They'll be dead before you can open it."

With a sigh he removed his hand while Sam shot him a questioning look. He mouthed 'Holy Water' at his brother who nodded in understanding. Then they both turned their full attention on the demon. Dean would have expected his family's emotions to be all over the place in this situation, but they were all strangely calm, patient, waiting. While there was some fear, it was not overpowering. A fierce pride in these men bloomed in his chest.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, John," she said, finishing her circuit. "I think I'm more than a match for you four." Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Mutants. Genetic misfits. Just being in the same room makes my skin crawl."

"So why are you here?" Sam demanded, not a trace of fear in his voice.

"Oh, it wasn't my idea, Sammy," she cooed. "No, I don't worry about the whys, I just follow orders." She nodded at Dean. "Your brother knows all about that, but that's one of the things that annoys you the most about him, isn't it?"

The growl which permeated the room was not his, Dean realized, much to his surprise. It was Logan. With a click, long gleaming claws shot out of the backs of Logan's fists. Sam merely glanced down before giving Dean a dirty look.

"You might have mentioned that," Sam muttered.

"I was getting around to it," Dean whispered back.

"No wonder Dad likes him," Sam replied with a huff. In another situation Dean would have laughed.

"Four ta one," Logan snarled, taking a step closer to her.

"Uh, six to four," she replied, motioning to the individuals guarding the doors. "Or can't you count? And I can always call in reinforcements if I need to, but that's not why I'm here."

"She's stalling," Dad announced, eyes narrowing on her. "What are you up to, darlin'? You can't get to anyone at the Institute, we made sure of that. That leaves us."

Sam shuddered and harsh, prickly fear shot out, stabbing through Dean hard enough to cause pain in his left lung and make him wince and stumble a step.

"That's right," she said with a nasty smile, looking right at Sam. Jess was the target? That didn't make sense. Why would the demons target her? If anything he would think that Jess should be on their side.

"Logan?" Dean said softly, trusting in his friend's unreal hearing. The barest movement of Logan's head was all he needed in confirmation. The two covering the rear exit had been moving in closer this whole time and were now in striking distance. "Now."

Dean spun, his hand whipping out the Holy Water to splash in one demon's face while he tackled the other. Sam was right there with him in a flurry of fists. Dean tried to recite the exorcism ritual but he kept being struck in the face or a chair thrown at his head until he couldn't remember what came next. Plus they were hopelessly outmanned. The demons seemed to be toying with them, delaying them without inflicting much damage. It infuriated Dean.

He pulled back from the fight to check on the demon bitch. She stood on the other side of the club watching gleefully. She even had the nerve to wink at him over Logan rolling across the floor with two demons. They couldn't let these bastards delay them but what could he do against six demons?

They answered to the demon with yellow eyes, he realized with a flash of insight. Yellow Eyes would be able to call them off.

Dean stared hard at the bitch, popping his neck. He felt the energy build up in his back and shoulders and let it until it was a burning hot mass between his shoulder-blades. Then he shook it out the way a dog shakes off water, willing most of it into a bubble surrounding him. The expression of triumphant on her face faded as she stared at him, replaced with confusion and growing fear.

Dean stepped purposefully around the fighting. One of the other demons moved to challenge him until he stared it down. The demon dropped its black soulless gaze and moved away like a puppy with its tail between its legs. He concentrated on the bitch, she was in charge here.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, taking a halting step back. "I had it handled."

"Handled?" he asked with a sneer. "You call this handled?"

She nodded, motioning to the brawl. "You wanted half an hour. We're just getting started."

"Take that!" Logan shouted and one of the demons howled with pain. Dean glanced back to see smoke rising from open wounds caused by the adamantium claws. Too cool. He had been wondering how well those worked.

"Adamantium," Dean informed her. "How long will they last against that? You should have tied them up. Even a Wendigo knows better." He tilted his head to the side, popping his neck again, using more of his rapidly draining energy to convince her by sending it directly into her instead of the bubble or they were all going to die.

"I can do this!" she hissed, furious. She stamped a foot on the wood floor, a hollow sound.

"Obviously not!" he shouted, throwing a hand out in the direction of the fight. Everyone - demon, mutant, and human - froze. Again silence fell over the room only this time it was tense, the looming threat of violence erupting overshadowing everything. He turned away from her to face his family, none of whom looked happy at the moment.

"Against the wall," he said calmly and motioned with his hand. They exchanged looks of acceptance as they moved to stand against the wall. Dean waited until they were ready to make another motion with his hand and the others pretended to be pinned to the wall. It was as if they had rehearsed this very event and everyone was playing his role perfectly.

"You too," he snapped to the waiter who hurried to join the others against the wall. He hoped the guy would clue in before the demons did.

Dean turned to the bitch. "I hear he makes a great daiquiri if you're interested."

She snorted through her nose, disgruntled. Dean shrugged. He met Logan's gaze and flicked his eyes towards the bitch. It was a subtle movement of Logan's mouth which indicated understanding and agreement.

"Why are you here?" the demon bitch demanded. "I thought you were taking care of the girlfriend?"

Sam's gasp from the wall was not unexpected.

"Nothing you can do about it, Sammy," Dean snapped with a stern look to 'stay'. The look Sam gave him should have been used on a real demon.

"It's Sam," his brother snapped, acid dripping from the words.

Dean mimed slapping Sam in the face and his brother dutifully snapped his head to one side like he had been struck, complete with wince and a dirty look. He turned his attention on Logan and lifted one hand while staring at his friend's arms. Clearly confused but still willing to play along, Logan lifted both arms. Dean kept raising his hand until both of Logan's hands were against the wall over that freaky hair-do.

"Now tell me how you were going to get around the claws," Dean insisted, pointing out Logan. "You know, now that he's harmless." He injected as much sarcasm into his tone as he could.

She made a nasty face before striding past him, right up to Logan. Demons were as stupid as they looked. Good to know. Dean pulled out the backup bottle of Holy Water from his boot. He turned to the other demons and motioned for them to step back a little.

–

* * *

Logan watched for the signal. He needed ta jump this possessed bitch, he understood what the kid was goin' for now, but when? Dean tossed the vial of water to his father who caught it easily as he nodded to Logan. Logan's arms swept down to grab the bitch, pressing a bright metal claw against her throat.

"Which girlfriend?" he growled in her ear as John sprayed Holy Water on the nearest demons and Dean and Sam moved to stand guard against the others. Logan pressed his claw against her skin until it started to smoke, then he held it there. She writhed in his grasp.

"Stay back!" Dean snapped to the other demons and Logan wondered what they was seein'. Had to be a good one. Probably the stupid, stubborn kid was gonna pass out the second they left.

The smoke from the possessed bitch's skin smelled nasty, like rotten eggs and somethin' dead. Made his eyes water. Logan held on tight. If they was after Libby he needed ta know. Now. If it was Libby, this weren't gonna end pretty.

"Which girlfriend?" he demanded again, noticing the other demons tryin' ta move in closer. He pulled the sharp edge against her throat and it was like pourin' boilin' water inside her skin. Nasty. And very useful. She screamed which made the others, who looked like they was gatherin' ta attack, back up a step.

"You ain't dyin'," Logan whispered in her ear. "Not until I know which one. I c'n keep this up for hours."

She swallowed against the blade of his claw. "It was his idea," she whispered with a glance at Dean. "Why is he just standing there?" Her whimper caused Dean ta glance their way and shoot Logan a quick grin.

Ah. Kid was posin' as a demon. Nice.

"Ain't askin' him," Logan pointed out, pulling down and slicing through more skin.

She wailed in his arms, eye closed, breathing harsh and ragged. "Moore," she choked out. "Jessica Moore. At some hotel. No protections."

"Got it!" Logan announced loudly, keeping his claws tight against her throat. John recited the exorcism, better'n him doin' it, while the other stupid demons just stood around watchin' for Dean ta do something until their mouths opened and that demon smoke took off.

"Too easy," John announced as Logan lowered the woman's body to the floor.

"Easy?" Dean wheezed, sinking to his knees. With a flick of his wrists, Logan had his claws back in just in time ta catch the kid before Dean could hit the floor. Knew he did too much.

"Damn it," John breathed. "We don't have time for this."

"Got food in the car," Logan insisted. "Let's go." After standin' the kid up, he spun Dean in place and made the kid fall across his left shoulder when he crouched down. Logan stood up smoothly, picking the kid up easily. What was this, the second or third time he'd had ta carry the kid outta danger? Gettin' ta be a habit. A bad one.

"Uh?" The Sam-brat moved in the way.

"Move it," Logan growled. "The kid gets cranky enough when I c'n get food inta him." He shoved the brat out of their way to head for the car. Surely Dean would let his father or brother drive the precious car. Logan didn't want to leave his motorcycle behind.

"Hey!" Dean barked from behind his back. "I'm not an invalid!"

"Shut up," Logan growled. "You ain't exactly easy ta get along with normally, and you're about ta turn inta a brat."

"What?" Dean protested over his shoulder as he walked outdoors. "I'm a great guy, people love me. And I am not a brat!" There was a hard swat to his back but Logan barely felt it.

Logan refused to answer as he made a bee-line for the far end of the parking lot where the precious car was parked. He turned around so Dean would be facin' the trunk. "Open it."

There was grumblin' and squirmin' on his shoulder as Dean took out the keys to unlock it. Finally he heard the click of it openin'. Logan turned slow, not wantin' ta smash the kid's skull in on his own car. He took a whole box of them energy bars from the trunk before noddin' at John to close it.

"I'll drive," John offered as Logan set the kid on his feet by the passenger door. He nodded in thanks to John as he glared at Dean, waitin' on the kid to open the damn box. Dean ripped the top of the box off, took out a bar, deftly removed the wrapper in one move to take a large bite.

"'appy?" he snarled around the food in his mouth.

Logan growled in reply before turnin' ta the brat. "Where're you stayin'?"

"It's not far," John shouted from inside the car, the engine revvin'. "Get in. We'll come back for the bike."

Dean opened the back door and glared at him this time, a silent demand to move his ass. Logan crawled in, against his better judgment. Sumthin' was going to happen to his bike, he just knew it. Dean sat next to 'im in back, the Sam-brat up front with their father. John peeled out of the parking area, leavin' black marks on the pavement and the smell of burnin' rubber in the air. The first corner they took at full speed, the heavy car nearly liftin' half off the ground. Logan grabbed the seat with one hand and the door with the other, hangin' on for dear life. This was about as bad as flyin'. Dean held on to the back of the seat in front of 'im with one hand, the other hand shovin' more energy bar in his mouth. Then the Sam-brat reached back to grab Dean by the wrist.

The intense look on Dean's face softened and he got this far-away unfocused look in his eyes. He sat like that, not movin' or even chewin', until the car jumped a curb in front of a hotel.

"Hey!" the kid barked at his father, Sam's hand releasin' him.

John shot the kid a dirty look before throwin' the precious hunk of steel into park in front of the hotel office. "Room!" John shouted, jumpin' outta the car.

"One-twelve!" Sam shouted back, runnin' away from them.

A low growl came from Dean as he rushed ta follow. He tossed a sharp look over his shoulder. "You comin'?"

Didn't take much for Logan to catch up with the kid even though he didn't know why. Runnin' into a room with demons. On purpose. Must be losin' his mind.

–

* * *

Sam's heart was pounding so hard he couldn't hear if his father was barking orders or not, nor did he care. All he cared about was reaching his room and making sure Jess was all right. He hadn't been gone that long, had he? No. Surely not. Just a few minutes.

Regardless, Sam was determined not to waste a second more. He hit the door of their room with his shoulder at full tilt, knocking it half off its hinges, the wimpy hotel door swinging in to bash against the interior wall. Panting wildly, Sam stopped in the center of the room, eyes searching desperately for signs of Jess. With the way he felt now, Sam knew his brother would be reaching for him, to settle his nerves and panic, but Dean couldn't afford to, not now, not with Jess' life on the line.

"Don't Dean," he snapped without turning around, seeing his brother's hand looming over his shoulder in his mind's eye. "If I have to reset your energy level again, I'm going to pass out."

"Oh, crap," Dad breathed out from his other side, the tone sending ice shards through his spine.

Before Sam could ask he realized there was something wrong with the far wall behind the bed. In blood red bold letters stated:

"Soldiers of a cause flock together,  
And so will mutants and swine;"

"Now what?" Logan growled from the door behind them.

Underneath the bold red letters new words faded in to view:

"The blond will have her choice,  
And so will I have mine."

"Damn it," Dad swore loudly, kicking at the bed. "What the hell could it want with her? She's just Sam's girlfriend, not even a mutant!" His foot slammed against the bed again.

"C'mon, we need to go," Logan ordered from behind them. "Hangin' around here ain't gonna help, but I know what will."


	92. Chapter 92: Evening With The Reverend

Sincerest apologies for the lateness of this chapter (especially considering the way I left the last one hanging). Hoping not to repeat that! Also - review replies don't seem to be working at the moment so all of those overdue replies still aren't coming. Sorry again!

**Chapter 92 – An Evening with The Reverend**

Jessica stirred to wakefulness, a persistent thought nagging at the back of her mind. Where was Sam? She forced her eyes to open. A ceiling was above her, not a surprise. The fact it was painted in a similar fashion to the Sistine Chapter was. Nude cherubs with golden wings surrounded God in his glory passing enlightenment to Adam.

Frowning, she turned her head to take a good look around. This was no hotel room, it was someone's bedroom and that someone had serious money. The furniture was all solid wood and high end, the kind you saw in showrooms. She lay on a bed with a designer comforter, the designer's name embroidered along the edges. The pillow cases had a large monogrammed 'S' on them. The bed itself reminded her of the tour she went on of the White House in high school, a large four poster heavily engraved. Washington might have slept here.

Her purse and all of her personal effects were no where to be seen, Jessica had only the clothes she had been wearing. There had been a knock on her door, she assumed a member of the hotel staff, and then all she remembered was a pair of horrible yellow eyes. Now she was here. Wherever 'here' was.

Sitting on the edge of the bed and wondering what her next move should be, her bare feet sinking into the deep plush pile carpeting, there was a knock on the door. Jess refused to answer, not belonging here, but watched the door curiously. It opened slowly and a man's face peered into the room.

"You are awake," he said in a soft yet stern tone, clearly someone who lacked any sense of humor. "Good. Your presence in the drawing room is desired."

"Where am I?" she asked, not moving.

"Where you need to be," the man replied. He opened the door all the way and, without actually stepping past the threshold, he waved a hand at her to accompany him. "Come."

Briefly she considered refusing just to see what he would do, but the quickest way for her to find answers would be to play along. Besides, it was pretty clear she was at their mercy so it would be unwise to anger her captors. Jessica stood to follow. Up close she could see the man was well built, reminding her in many ways of Sam's brother only without personality. He moved sure and smooth, bearing a kind of confidence and grace which screamed experience. What kind of experience? Now that was a good question. The same kind Dean had? Mythology expert? That made no sense. Some kind of hunter, perhaps. It would fit with those strange stories from Sam's childhood about rabid bears.

He led her through expensively furnished rooms to what he had called the drawing room. There were several large leather armchairs with side tables here. The walls had dark wood paneling up to waist height, then above that appeared to be upholstered in leather. It was a very masculine room. Her father would love it.

The man who brought her here motioned to one of the chairs. "Would madame care for a drink? Wine, perhaps?"

"Water," she decided, choosing to stick with something safe.

"We also have coffee and tea," he offered.

"You know, hot tea sounds nice," Jessica replied.

"Very good." The man left her alone in the room, pulling the pocket doors at the entry closed behind him.

She explored the single room, examining the titles of the few books and magazines in here. The books were all theological in nature, mostly about angels. The magazines all appeared to be based on the Stryker television ministry. Since her father also subscribed to them they were easy to recognize. Then a new one caught her eye. She picked it up with a frown. It had a supposed photo of a boy on the cover. His skin was dark green and a long frog-like tongue came out of his mouth and curled in several loops through the air in front of his face. The caption read 'Mutants – The Threat In Every BackYard'. She snorted through her nose, the sound reminding her strongly of her missing boyfriend.

"Good evening," a strong voice declared.

Startled, Jess dropped the magazine and spun around. Standing before her, live and in person, was the too familiar figure of Reverend Stryker. On television he normally wore a nice suit and his hair was always up in a grand white wave. The hair was the same but he wore tan khakis and white polo shirt. He smiled at her and she was not certain if she should feel relieved or very frightened. Why was she here? And how did she get here? For what purpose?

"Reverend Stryker?" Jess asked.

"I suppose you are wondering why you are here," he stated, sliding the pocket doors closed behind him. "Please sit. This may take some time."

Jessica chose to sit in an armchair facing the doors. While she felt that she was in no physical danger, the entire situation was strange enough that she did not care for the idea of anyone being able to walk up behind her.

"You recognized me," the reverend said, his piercing eyes leveling on her. "May I make the assumption that you have watched my ministry?"

She nodded. Without knowing the circumstances of her arrival here anything she might say could be misconstrued.

One of his patented wide bright smiles flared. "Excellent. This will be easy."

Mutants. This had to be about those stupid mutants, Jess decided. But what would mythical mutants have to do with her?

"In a moment my assistant Jeffrey will bring your tea. He will also have a dossier which I think you will find very interesting, Miss Jessica Moore." Stryker's smile was unwavering but it felt cool, distant.

"I would like to know how I came to be here," Jessica replied, "and why."

"An angel brought you," the reverend replied.

"Of the human variety?" Jess asked, thinking she was making a reasonable assumption.

"Oh, no," Stryker said. Then his elbows lifted and he mimicked a bird in flight until the doors behind him slid open. "Jeffrey," he greeted his assistant, arms dropping to his sides.

"Sir." The man gave his employer a nod of deference and stood waiting.

"Go ahead, before her tea cools off," Stryker chided, his smile more genuine when he watched Jeffrey obeying him.

Jeffrey handed her a cup of hot tea with a saucer. No cream, milk, honey, lemon or sugar was offered. After giving the man an evaluating once-over she chose not to ask for anything. He looked more like a trained assassin than a reverend's personal assistant. It lowered her opinion of Stryker, which had not been too high before waking up here.

Then Jeffrey offered her the file he had tucked under his arm. It was rather thick and labeled 'Xavier Institute.' With a frown, she set her tea aside in favor of the file. The very first page claimed the institute was a military training facility for a mutant army. She could not contain the scowl erupting on her face.

"Go on. Keep reading," the reverend insisted, as if more of this garbage would really convince her.

Jessica suspected she would have to endure reading through this fantastical tale of mutants before she would be allowed to leave. Although why they were doing this to, of all people, her, was beyond comprehension. She scanned the pages, rifling through various photos and reports. In her cursory examination she learned that Reverend Stryker believed the Institute to be a training ground for a mutant army. It looked like they believed all of the students and teachers at the school were mutants. Even if mutants existed they would be a rarity, certainly not enough to fill an entire school. Then she hit a page with the phrase 'Patient: Samuel Winchester'.

Startled, she slowed her rapid pace to read this page carefully. It looked like a doctor's report of some kind. From a pediatrician's office last fall? Weird. Halfway through the report it stated "Patient tested positive for mutant gene but shows no abilities. May only be a carrier." Then it went on to list various tests performed with either negative or normal results.

Sam's voice echoed in her ears, "...but I do have the gene."

No. Jess shook her head, turning the page. It was impossible. Coincidence. Plus the report was clearly a fake. Why would Sam go to a pediatrician? That in itself was absurd.

Then again, why would anyone bother to create such an obvious fake? Maybe Reverend Stryker was crazy. And Jeffrey? Probably. What about all the people who worked for and followed his teachings? Were they all insane? Her father wasn't insane. Misguided at times but not insane. Jess turned back to Sam's medical report. When she read it over again it began to sound more plausible.

"This can't be," she muttered, rejecting what she saw printed in black and white. It was absurd. Impossible. It was _not _plausible.

"I assure you, my dear, it can," Stryker declared, his voice ringing in the room. Jessica looked up from the file into his eyes, which were alight with fervor and religious dedication.

"Mutants are among us in greater numbers than we feared," he announced and Jessica had the feeling he was only warming up. "Many look like regular humans. Some can even hide their true nature, like that good looking young man of yours." He scooted forward in his seat and when he smiled it was the soft and understanding smile from television. "You could not have known, my dear. He lies, like all the mutants. Why, I'll bet he didn't even mention having a genetic condition of any kind."

She opened her mouth to argue with him when she thought better of it. He could not know about Dean's condition or the fact Sam carried the gene responsible. It had only been diagnosed a few days ago.

"No," Jess replied, understanding that the quickest and easiest way to learn what he knew, or thought he knew, was to agree with him. "He didn't."

"I thought not," Stryker replied, his gentle smile turning a bit wilder. "It's typical of these mutants, to hide and lie. You're lucky. I hope you'll understand how lucky one of these days. My dear departed wife, she should have been honest with me." He sighed deeply. "Children born with horns, wings, fur, these are all signs of the devil."

Wife? Jessica thought to herself. She racked her brains to remember every scrap of trivia her father spouted about Reverend Stryker but she could not recall any mention of a wife, not even a dead one. "How did she die?"

His face darkened with dangerous anger. "Mutants," he hissed, eyes blazing with fury. "They caused her death."

"But how?" she persisted. Up until now Jessica had considered her stubbornness to be a gift, one of the perfect attributes to becoming a therapist because once she found the clue to an issue she would follow it until either a resolution or enlightenment was achieved. At the moment her gift might be more trouble than it was worth.

Stryker's face darkened and a deep scowl creased his face. "Had she told me, I could have cleansed her of the contamination before the baby could be infected." His eyes filled with tears though none spilled on to his cheeks. "They lie to spread their disease, their demonic influence. No child should be made to suffer that way." His gaze stabbed deep. "Your boyfriend should have been saved the moment he was born."

Saved. Her breath caught in her chest. It was all but an admission of murder. When...if she escaped from here, Jessica resolved to find out if his child was still alive. He had already told her that his wife died though he did not say how. Playing along with him seemed to be her best course of action.

"When...a...mutant child is born, how can you know?" she asked, carefully sidestepping a direct question about his child.

"An excellent question," Stryker stated with a nod of approval. "There are cases where the demonic influence is obvious, where the child has been born with obvious signs, such as horns."

"You've seen infants born with horns?" she asked in complete disbelief. This man was insane. Why in the world did he have people following him, believing in him? Couldn't they see it? It made sense for individuals like her father not to see it when the only contact he had was through the television, but surely the people around him knew.

"Certainly," he replied, his eyes flashing with zealot fervor. "And wings. And fur. The tongue of a frog." Stryker leaned forward, his gaze strong and demanding. "Shall I go on?"

"No," she said honestly. "That's all right. I get the picture." Jessica cleared her throat. "And how do you save these infants?"

"The only way we can." His voice was hard as steel with an edge sharp enough to cut.

That was what she had feared. Now she worried about how and if she would be able to leave here alive. Oh, Sam, she thought desperately, I hope you've called the police.

–

* * *

Sam stood watching Professor Xavier sitting with a strange metal helmet on his head with his eyes closed. Dean's gaze flicked from the professor to Sam with a frown. A jerk of the head indicated Sam should move closer.

"What are we doing here?" he hissed into his big brother's ear as he stepped up behind Dean.

"Finding your girlfriend," Dean hissed back over his shoulder. "Now shut up. And chill out."

"But how is this-"

"Gentlemen," Xavier interrupted, "please. If you can not contain your thoughts I will have to ask you to leave the room." His brow furrowed and he appeared to be concentrating very hard.

Sam felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and turned his head to see Dad standing close, a finger pressed against his lips. He leaned over to speak into Sam's ear. "Finding demon activity this way is harder than finding mutants. Cut him a little slack."

Slack! With Jess' life on the line? Why the hell should he give anyone some slack?

With a deep sigh, Xavier removed the silver helmet. "Please tell me the poem again."

"Soldiers of a cause flock together,  
And so will mutants and swine;

The blond will have her choice,  
And so will I have mine," Dean recited without hesitation. It even sounded like he had it perfectly memorized. Huh.

"A take-off on Birds of a feather will flock together," Xavier observed. "And so will pigs and swine. Rats and mice will have their choice and so will I have mine." He frowned. "Birds have been replaced with soldiers, mutants have replaced pigs, and the blond, meaning Miss Moore, has replaced the rats and mice, which I find very ominous."

"Why?" Dad demanded before Sam could open his mouth to say this was all a waste of time.

"Rats spread the plague," Xavier replied, his distaste almost palatable. "I suspect this is how Reverend Stryker views mutants, as a plague which must be destroyed before it wipes out humanity."

"Idiot," Dean snorted with a nasty expression.

"Indeed," Xavier replied, "especially assuming your friend Pastor Jim is correct, that our mutations are a natural evolutionary defense against supernatural threats." His hands steepled in front of him as a thoughtful look crossed his face. "However, there is some hope Miss Moore will simply be let go."

"Why?" Sam demanded, clutching at any straw he was offered.

"The line in the poem," he replied. "The blond will have her choice."

"What about soldiers flockin' t'gether?" Logan asked. Dean's odd friend had been so quiet it had been easy to ignore his presence up to now. "I don't like the sounds of that."

"Nor do I, Logan," Xavier stated with a sigh. "Perhaps you and Hunter would see to securing the grounds?"

"No," Dean said firmly. "I'm staying right here until we figure out the best way to find Jessica."

"I'll let Cyclops know what's goin' on," Logan said. He gave Dean a long look. "Back b'fore you know it, kid."

Dean nodded before Logan moved to leave the room. The man appeared to want to push Sam aside to walk between him and his big brother to leave, then thought better of it to walk around all of them though he reached out to pat Dean's shoulder as he passed. No one spoke again until after the door closed behind Logan's back.

"Hunter?" Xavier said, his voice mild though his expression was intense. "Do you prefer for Logan to be here to aid in the search?"

"He's the best," Dean replied staunchly, his tone challenging anyone to disagree with him.

"Indeed he is," the school founder replied. Sam could not help the spike of jealousy which surged through him. Then his brother let out a groan and shot Sam a hard look.

He shrugged sheepishly. "Can't help it?" It was weak and he knew it, but it was the truth. Fortunately, Dean just rolled his eyes and shook his head before nodding at Xavier. Sam turned to face his brother's boss, hoping against hope that someone would come up with something they would be able to use to save Jess.

–

* * *

"That's Dean's friend Logan," Jessica identified the school's gym teacher from a candid photo. It could have been taken from across the street of the school. Logan was outdoors at the Institute walking through the snow with Libby. She really hoped it was an innocent little walk. Despite Sam's claims to the contrary, she figured his older brother had fallen pretty hard for the mousy librarian. "He teaches phys ed."

"Hand to hand combat," Reverend Stryker replied stiffly, throwing another photo down. "How about this one?"

"Mister Summers, the headmaster," Jessica replied. There were those sunglasses Sam complained about constantly. They were an odd shade, almost red. She had not noticed that before.

"Tactics," Stryker snapped.

"Well it is a military school," Jessica said, trying to sound calm. The weirdness of this so-called visit, abduction was more like it, coupled with his almost admission of infanticide had her completely on edge and looking for any means of escape. She had to keep Stryker reasonable, her life might depend on it. What if he suddenly decided she were one of these demonic mutants too? He might decide she needed to be 'saved' as well.

Assuming she made it out of here alive, Jess planned to have a long, long, long talk with her father.

Stryker snorted in derision, tossing another photo down in front of her. Feeling obliged to look, her gaze fell on a woman she had met only briefly once or twice. What was her name? Jessica snapped her fingers as she tried to remember.

"Oh, what was her name?" she mumbled, staring at the striking black woman with both arms held up wide to the sky.

"Does she practice a pagan weather religion?" Stryker asked, his tone demanding. "Or can she control storms?"

"Storm," Jess said, startling herself with the suddenness of it. "Dean called her Storm. He had a really smooth excuse about not using her real name..." Realizing she was giving him too much, as if she had violated a patient's confidence, her voice trailed off.

He slammed a new photo down in front of her, anger seething in his face. When he pulled his hand away Dean's face blazing with rage glared up, shocking her. Sam's brother wore some kind of costume with one of those over the head masks which was hanging down his back. This photo was not like the others, it was black and white and grainy like it had been taken from a security camera.

"This one," Stryker said in a tone which sent cold chills down her arms, "is the one I'd really like to talk about. Do you know what this demon is capable of?"

"Reverend?" A deep voice spoke from the corner of the room. Jessica tried to see who was speaking but the man was enshrouded in shadow.

"Yes?" Stryker replied, his anger gone. His gaze locked with hers as he spoke with the mysterious person in the room. Jessica could have sworn they were alone in here not two seconds ago.

"May I?" the deep voice asked. There was a rustle of clothing as a man stepped out of the shadows. He was middle aged, receding hairline, clean shaven, with a smile that made her go cold on the inside. He wore brown work pants, the kind acid can be spilled on without damage, heavy brown work boots, and a thin work jacket with the logo of an industrial services company emblazoned across the left side.

"Of course," Stryker replied, his eyes downcast, avoiding looking at the man. He stepped back to give the other man room.

The other man walked up to her, still sporting that same cold smile. "Oh, my," the man breathed, his eyes traveling up and down her body. She was seriously worried now that they had more plans for her than this mutant nonsense. If they did, and she still managed to escape alive, would Sam have anything to do with her? Many men considered rape victims to be defiled. Typically it was not a conscious decision.

What was she doing? Planning her own counseling in case she were gang raped? She was losing her mind. It would not happen, Jessica assured herself, it would not. Then why was that little voice in the back of her mind screaming at her to run, run hard and fast and never look back?

"I can see what little Sammy sees in you, Jessica," the man stated after a prolonged leering moment. "Can't blame him. You, however, ought to have better taste."

"Why?" she asked, her mouth dry and her hands starting to tremble. Even after piecing together how far gone Stryker was, she had not been truly frightened until this moment.

The man's smile broadened and her breath caught in her chest, forming a painful lump.

"You know better than to consort with mutants, don't you, my dear?" he asked.

In a flash of insight she knew he must be referring to Stryker's ministry and her father's devotion to it. Instead of arguing that mutants don't exist, she nodded. Anything to get out of here in one piece.

"Good, good," the man crooned, his eyes riveted to her. "I'm guessing Sam never mentioned he's a mutant? Well, he might not have known." The man shrugged as if it made no difference. "But considering you two have been at mutant central for the last week, I'd have to guess that he knows now." The man's chuckle sounded innocuous enough but his smile and his eyes were devoid of humor, cold and without compassion.

"The Xavier Institute is mutant central?" she asked while a heavy sense of foreboding blanketed her. "Really? I didn't notice anything strange."

He chuckled, a darkness flashing in his cold eyes. "Well, if you were around this one," he tapped a finger on Dean's photo, "I would guess not."

"Who are you?" Jessica had to summon up all of her remaining courage to ask.

"Don't you mean, who is he?" the man asked, tapping on Dean's face again. "And what are his powers?"

"Powers?" Jessica asked, taken aback. "Now they're not just mutants, they have powers too? Dark demonic ones, no doubt."

"Powers I wouldn't approve of," the man replied tersely. Then the cold smile returned. "But yes, mutants do have powers. Don't you want to know what your boyfriend's brother can do? And has done?" He leaned on the desk between them until his breath was in her face. "To you."

She had been ready to protest that no, she did not want to know what these fantastical imaginary powers were, until that last bit. To her. Now what was that supposed to mean? Dean had been nothing but courteous to her, perhaps a bit too polite at times, another reason she believed Sam when he said his brother might not care too much for her.

Leaning back to regain her personal space, Jessica stared into those lifeless cold eyes. Deep down she knew, without a doubt, she could not trust this man. But at the same time, she wanted to know what he thought he knew.

"To me," she repeated, steeling herself for whatever fantasy this man had dreamed up as she backed away a couple of steps. "What could Dean have done to me? I barely know the man."

"You did not notice that this so-called school is really a training center for mutants," the man stated, his tone dripping with derision, "I'd have to say old Dean-o was hard at work. You see, not all mutants have wings or tails. Many of them appear to be perfectly normal, and that's why they're so dangerous. Especially the ones like Dean Winchester."

His speech sounded like it was just revving up. Stryker's gaze was still averted but Jessica noticed that he hung on the strange man's every word, his hands clasped reverently together in front of him. She suspected if she were not in the room he might fall to his knees. His lips began to move silently, his eyes closing in prayer. She returned her focus to the unknown man.

"Why especially him?" she asked, beginning to feel a little defensive of her boyfriend's brother. "What did he do?"

"Tried to destroy me," Stryker mumbled.

One side of the man's mouth twisted up in a half grin as he cast a glance towards Stryker. He shook his head and waved a hand dismissively in the reverend's direction.

"He does what he likes," the man replied with a chuckle and quick shake of his head. "Any idea how many women he's had? I almost envy that Winchester. Not the rest." The chilled smile returned. "But that one, he's dangerous on so many levels. His father taught him how to hunt the things that go bump in the night." His laugh at her clear disbelief was frigid and mocking. "Oh, yes, little Jessica. That story about the bear? It wasn't a bear, my dear. Sammy lied to you. Has been lying. Will continue to lie."

The man picked up a brown file folder to flip through its contents. He pulled out Sam's medical report to point out the line which claimed her boyfriend tested positive for a mutant gene. "Don't think he doesn't know. That brother of his has had mutant abilities since they were children, he had to have noticed."

"You still haven't told me what you think they can do," Jessica pointed out, wondering how deep this delusion ran. If she exposed it as a delusion would they become violent? It was not an uncommon reaction but it might be worth the risk.

"What I think..." The chilling laugh rang out and Stryker shuddered, turning away from them. "Do you hear her, Reverend? What I think they can do." For a moment, a brief second, his eyes lit with a glowing yellow light. It happened so quickly she thought perhaps that she imagined it, but there was nothing in her background, in her history, to create glowing yellow eyes.

"I think," he spat the word as if it tasted foul, "this bastard..." He snatched Dean's photo from the table to thrust in her face. "He can make you think or feel anything he wants. Any time he wants. You could stand next to a mutant beast and think you're standing next to a perfectly normal man. For all we know, this man could have tentacles like an octopus." The photo in her face shook, the paper making warping sounds as it crinkled in his hand.

He was so worked up and the accusation about Dean having tentacles? She might want to rethink her career choice. Laughing in a patient's face was not the best reaction, no matter how absurd the claim.

"An octopus?" she gasped between encompassing eruptions of laughter.

"Not the best description," the man mumbled, releasing the photo of Dean and allowing it to drift lazily to the floor. He cleared his throat and thrust his hands into his pants pockets. "All right. Let's give this another try, shall we? Why don't we discuss your little boyfriend?"

Her laughter died out instantly. "What about Sam?" she demanded. Where this sense of entitlement came from she had no idea.

"There's no future for you there," he stated firmly. "You might as well call it quits now. I have plans for him. There's no room for you."

This strange man who apparently had no name was laying a claim on her boyfriend? After they finally said those all important words to each other? He needed to rethink that one.

"There's not," he repeated as if he could read her thoughts. "You would be better off going back to school and flipping that hair around until some other stud trips over his tongue for you." He chuckled again. "You can have this if you want it." He motioned to himself.

All thoughts of remaining diplomatic in order to save herself fled from her mind. "Forget it," she snapped harshly.

This smile he favored her with this time was not as cold and aloof, which made it far more frightening and chilled her to the bone.

"Oh, really, a little fire there?" He circled around behind her and she had to grind her teeth together to keep from saying anything she might not live long enough to regret. "I'm starting to 'get' what Sammy sees in you, blondie." Returning to her side, he reached up and slid a finger down her cheek. "Want to see some real fire?"

She cut her eyes at him, glaring hotly. Stryker cleared his throat, his gaze lifting from the floor for the first time since the strange man stepped out of the corner. The creepy man's finger slid slowly past her jaw down her throat.

"Uh, sir?" Reverend Stryker said, his eyes jumping up, lingering a little longer each time on the strange man, as if he had to build up his courage.

"Oh, I forgot," the man groaned, his head tilting back, "such a prude." When his finger reached her neck he jerked back, shaking his hand as if he had been bitten and glaring at her. Jess glanced down at the necklace Sam's brother had sent her for Christmas last year. She wore it almost constantly these days, mostly in deference to the high esteem Sam held his brother in, which she understood much better now. Oh, how grateful she was that Sam wanted her to come on this trip, present circumstances excepted, of course.

"Never mind," he growled, shaking his hand. "The point is..." he paused dramatically, holding the finger in the air revealing a small burned spot, "...you can't have Sammy. He's spoken for."

"By you?" she asked incredulously.

"Not me," he replied with another of those chilling chuckles. "By my boss."

"He is to be protected?" Stryker demanded. "Why were we not told?"

"No need." The man snorted in Stryker's direction. "Your Purifiers don't have a, uh," -he laughed loudly now- "_**prayer **_of taking out a Winchester." He shot a hard look at the reverend who appeared scandalized by the statement. "Take my word for it."

"Yes, sir," Stryker whispered, dropping his head in deference.

Jessica turned to ask the delusional psychotic about the burn on his finger, but she and the Reverend Stryker were alone again. Confused, she investigated the corner where the man had been hiding. It was empty. She checked all the corners and even under the sofa and chairs, as if he could have hidden there.

"Where the hell did he go?" she muttered to herself in astonishment.

"Do you see why they are so dangerous now?" Stryker demanded. "And you should feel privileged. The angel does not show himself to everyone."

Angel? The chill the man's leering smile had given her increased until her very soul felt it. She ran her hands over the goosebumps on her arms. If that man was an angel, she would never set foot inside a church again. No, these people were clearly psychotic and required high level professional help. That disappearing act smacked of a magician's trick. And she needed to reassess her career path. Being a therapist did not appeal to her at the moment. Not with people like this loose in the world.

"You must make a choice," Stryker stated, calmer now. From the file he removed a glossy photo of the head of the school, Professor Xavier. "Will you help us to help this man see the light?"

"If I say yes?" she asked, her mind churning through various scenarios of how she might escape if they would leave her alone in a room with a window for maybe five minutes. Jess was pretty certain she could throw one of these leather chairs, which should be heavy enough to break the glass on impact.

"Then we will arrange for you to meet with him in a public place, like a restaurant," Stryker replied firmly. "My Purifiers will be there to protect you."

"Protect me," she repeated slowly, her mind churning with escape scenarios. "But I don't need to be protected."

He frowned, his brow furrowing deeply. "They are mutants. The moment they realize you are against them, they will destroy you."

Jess nodded slowly although she knew in her heart that Sam would never, could never, harm her. But as long as she could go outside of these walls, escape was possible.

"I will make the necessary arrangements," he announced before striding confidently from the room.


	93. Chapter 93: Dinner with Xavier

**Chapter 93: Dinner with Xavier**

Jessica fidgeted at the table, nervously arranging and rearranging her silverware, the napkin in her lap, and her glass of water. Professor Xavier was due to arrive at any moment. She hoped.

"Don't worry, my dear," Reverend Stryker crooned from beside her, one hand rubbing soothingly over her shoulder, "we are protected."

Fear coursed through her at his touch. It required all of her willpower not to yank herself out of his reach and make a break for the nearest door. Then there were these 'Purifiers'. Large, strong men with a distinct military air and bearing had met them at Stryker's mansion.

Bastard lived in a mansion. All of those televised services promising money to the less fortunate and so on, and the lying bastard lived in a mansion. She could not wait to go see her father.

These Purifiers were some kind of para-military group answering to Stryker. If he had not scared her before, that alone would have done it. She needed to find a way out of his clutches. From the sounds of it the only place around here she would be safe was the Xavier Institute because they were afraid of it.

Expectation rippled through the restaurant. Jess could not understand what it would be for and like many of the other patrons she rose part way from her seat for a better look at the main entrance to the dining room. Professor Xavier, dressed very sharp and tastefully, rolled in alone. There were motions in his direction from other patrons, even a few friendly waves, as his motorized wheelchair made its way down the main aisle to their table. Clearly he was known at this restaurant.

Stryker stood as Xavier pulled up to a place setting without a chair on the far side of their table.

"Mister Xavier," he said, holding out a hand in greeting, "it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I believe I have already met some of your associates."

"Thank you, Reverend," Xavier replied, giving the outstretched hand a single shake before releasing it. "Yes, I believe your associates have indeed met some of my associates. It is a shame that those meetings could not have been more constructive."

A darkness settled over Stryker's features as he sat and pulled his napkin into his lap.

"Jessica, my dear," Xavier said as a waiter walked up behind him. The waiter picked up the tented napkin from the table to shake out and lay over the professor's lap. "We missed your company last night. Are you feeling better?"

With a quick glance at Stryker, she nodded. If only she could tell him that these people were insane! To make for the door and never look back! Then again, that wheelchair could not possibly outrun the Purifiers. They were stuck.

"Excellent." Professor Xavier picked up his menu. "Ah, this restaurant has such marvelous choices. Jessica, might I recommend the fish? It is flown in daily and Chef does wonders with it."

The waiter stood beside her looking down, his order pad at the ready. "Will the lady have the fish?" he asked, his tone and voice so familiar.

Jess looked up. At first she did not understand, then the waiter smiled and winked before motioning with his pad. Dean! It was Sam's brother! Standing right here next to her. How in the world had she not noticed when he first approached?

"Miss?" Dean asked again, pen poised to take her order.

"I would love the fish," she said in a rush, hoping against hope that she would be rescued. Here. Now.

He bent over then staring at her chest. She could not fathom why he would be acting so rude in public like this.

"Very unusual necklace," Dean said, standing upright. "Do you wear it all the time?"

"My boyfriend's brother gave it to me for Christmas," she replied shakily. "I never take it off."

He smiled again, friendlier this time and she felt warmth rush over her in an encompassing wave. "Sounds like a great guy."

"He is," she said quickly. Maybe this was also her chance to make him like her. "We'd only met once and he sent me a present. Can you believe it?"

He winked at her before turning to Stryker. "And for you, sir?" Dean took the rest of the lunch orders before heading away from the table, much to her dismay. At least with him close by she had some hope of protection. What were the odds of an older man in a wheelchair saving her from these para-military pseudo-religious fanatics?

"My dear," Professor Xavier said, waving a hand to draw her attention. "I asked if you're still not feeling well. Perhaps you would like a moment to freshen up before our order arrives?" He nodded in the direction of the ladies restroom.

Could she go to the bathroom and never come back? It was a thought.

"She is fine," Stryker stated firmly, glaring at the Professor. "As a matter of fact, Miss Moore has a few things to explain to you." His glare shifted to her. "Don't you, Miss Moore?"

"Uh, yes, I guess," she stammered. What if Professor Xavier thought she believed this mutant nonsense? He had enough credibility in the field of academia to destroy her career before she had a chance to start. Then again, she was seriously considering changing majors. That might be a good thing. Forcing a smile on her face, Jess placed her hand palm up on the table. With a matching smile, Professor Xavier rested his hand in hers.

"You see, there are these..."

She blinked and a feeling that something had changed, something huge, settled over her. As she peered around she noticed that the room around them had stilled, frozen in time. Everyone and everything with the exception of herself and Professor Xavier was perfectly still.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked gently, holding on to her hand.

Using her free hand, Jess waved it in Stryker's face. The man did not move. He could have been frozen solid in ice.

"Now that paints an interesting picture," the professor mused with a smile. "I believe one of our students would be particularly fond of that idea."

"What idea?" she asked, still staring at the immobile room.

"Freezing this man in ice," Xavier replied simply.

Her gaze snapped to his calm and serene face. "I never said that."

"No, you did not," he said, "but you thought it." With a nod at the stillness surrounding them he continued, "I believe you were going to explain about demonic mutants."

She could only blink at him in her shock. After a long moment, which felt like ages with the room frozen in time, Jessica managed to recover her voice. "You've heard of them?"

"There are mutants," he replied, holding her hand firmly in his, "but we are not demonic."

"W-we?" she stuttered, eyes wide.

"I am a telepath," Xavier told her. "We are currently having this conversation entirely in your mind. When we are done, only a fraction of a second will have passed in reality."

"This isn't real?" Her breath caught in her chest and her heart began to race.

"Oh, it is quite real," Xavier assured her. "And please believe that Dean is most anxious to rescue you from Stryker and his army. I have been only marginally successful in convincing him to hold back."

"You know about them too?" She stared at the professor in astonishment. "How could you know all of that?"

His other hand rose to cover hers. "My dear, please allow me a moment to explain. I am a mutant. My mutation makes me a rather strong telepath, which has enabled me to enter your mind in order for us to converse without Reverend Stryker having any knowledge of our conversation. The good Reverend is so paranoid of mutants he has demonized us, quite literally, and built up a rather dangerous following which brings us to his Purifiers. They are here?"

Jess nodded. "I think there are about a dozen of them."

"There are more," he said with a sigh, a heavy and sad sound. "What is it he expects of you?"

"I'm supposed to convince you to come with him, uh, us." Jess swallowed nervously. "I think he wants to try brain-washing you into believing that mutants are dangerous."

A thin smile came to his face. "Oh, I don't need to be conditioned to think that. Mutants can be quite dangerous, especially to those who wish to destroy us. But for now we need to focus on the best way of making your escape. If you can convince the good reverend to allow you to use the ladies', we have an escape plan in place. Dean will be able to mask your disappearance for at least ten minutes, which should be plenty of time for the others to take you far from here and Stryker's influence. At The Institute you will be safe."

"Mutants are real?" she asked hesitantly. It had been the basis of her diagnosis regarding Stryker's psychotic obsession.

"Quite real and just as human as you are," he assured her. Professor Xavier nodded at her, his eyes below her chin. "As a matter of fact, the necklace you wear should be proof enough of that claim." She gave him a quizzical look. "Dean is very knowledgeable in the field of myths and legends. He sent you that necklace as a protection against demons. The real ones which I myself did not believe existed until recently."

He chuckled lightly at her startled reaction. "I thought him quite insane at first, my dear, but unfortunately I now know he and his family are telling the truth. Their sanity, however, may still be in question."

"Why?" she whispered, fear clutching at her heart. What was wrong with Sam?

"Any family who chooses to hunt demons?" Xavier asked her, his eyebrows lifting and an expression of incredulity on his face. "Clearly sanity is not a strong factor. Perhaps you will be able to assist with that."

She nodded, glancing again at the frozen restaurant around them. "How long can we stay like this?"

"Not much longer, I'm afraid," he replied with a pat to her hand. "Remember, do or say whatever you must in order to go to the restroom. There will be two ladies there whom you should recognize from The Institute to assist your escape. Do not worry about the rest of us, just go."

Jess nodded, feeling both hopeful and hesitant. Mutants real? Demons real? Maybe she simply needed a few good shots and a day to sleep off the hang-over. Her life was turning into a nightmare.

Rapidly sound assaulted her ears, unwelcome after the serene silence. The room around them picked up in tempo and movement, resuming its earlier activities and taking no notice of an interruption. Jess blinked a few times at the professor who was still holding her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said aloud, "could you repeat that?"

"I said you still look like you're not feeling well," Xavier told her with a squeeze to her hand, "perhaps you would like to take that moment to freshen up?"

"She's-" Stryker began to say when Jess interrupted him.

"I think I will." Jess stood quickly, pulling her hand from the professor and stepping out of Stryker's reach. "Excuse me," she said to Stryker, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"No," the so-called reverend said loudly, causing heads from several nearby tables to turn in their direction, "you will sit." He pointed to her chair.

Jess remained standing giving him her best quizzical look, the one that drove Sam right up the wall. Then it hit her that they were in a public place where Stryker did not control everyone surrounding them. She should be able to simply walk out of here if she chose.

"No," she replied staunchly, pitching her voice to be heard by the neighboring tables, "I'm going to the ladies'." Jess spun on her heel to march away from the table. Two large men eyed her as she passed their tables and she could feel them stand to follow. Gathering her courage, she increased her pace as she nearly ran to the women's restroom.

When her elbow was engulfed by a large hand and she was forced to stop, Jess was not surprised. Honestly, she was shocked she had made it to the hall outside of the restrooms before one of the Purifiers was able to stop her.

"The reverend said to stay," a gruff voice spoke into her ear. His eyes were ice blue and the lack of compassion or basic humanity chilled her to the core.

"But I really have to go," she said weakly, unable to pull her elbow from his vice-like grip. His fingers were wrapped around her arm like steel bands and threatened to cut off circulation to her lower arm.

"Gentlemen," a strong woman's voice said. Jess tore her gaze from the hand gripping her arm to the striking black woman standing before them. She had shock white hair. Wasn't she from The Insitute? The one with the strange name? Storm. Dean called her Storm. Her real name was too pretty to be butchered by the likes of him, that was his smooth excuse.

Storm stood with her hands on her hips and a pleasant smile on her face. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem," a second man's voice declared. Jess had not noticed there was another Purifier with them until this moment. Her hopes for escape sunk below her feet and she slumped in the first man's grasp.

"This lady does not look like she wants to go with you," Storm stated, not moving. "Release her. Now."

Her demand was imperial and strong and she stood her ground in the face of these two large and very dangerous men. Jess tried to tell the woman using only her eyes that these were not men to be trifled with. When Storm refused to back down, Jess shook her head and turned to go with them in order to spare this school teacher.

"Gentlemen!" Storm hissed, her voice a crack of thunder.

Startled, the three of them turned to face the solitary black woman. Now her eyes blazed with fury and her hair blew up away from her face as if caught in a strong updraft. Then the air around her crackled and Jess felt all of the hairs on her arms stand straight up. Jess was shoved to the side, away from the nearest exit but still out of sight of the main dining area. The men advanced on Storm.

Jess started to cry out, hoping a scream or shout would draw attention in time to save the poor woman who was trying to save her, but the bathroom door opened and a red-headed woman peered out. She pressed a finger to her lips and motioned for Jess to come with her. Jess pointed to the men and Storm and the woman smiled brightly while nodding and motioning for her to hurry. Confusion would be an understatement, but Jess saw no alternative other than following the red-head's directions. Besides, she seemed familiar too, perhaps she was also from The Institute.

"Do you remember me?" the woman asked as Jess passed her to enter the ladies' room. "Jean Grey?"

"You were at the club the first night we arrived?" Jess asked, uncertain and shaken by the exchange in the hall. "Will Storm be all right? She's out there alone."

"She isn't alone," Jean assured her while handing over a large purse. "There's a change of clothes in here. Hurry."

Jess grabbed the bag and rushed into one of the stalls. Inside the bag was one of her outfits. She changed quickly, stuffing her dirty clothes into the bag. When she stepped out, she found a girl with Jean.

"This is Kitty," Jean explained quickly. "The Professor says you know about mutants now? That's good, it means we can use the easy way out." She took Jess' dirty clothes from the bag and pulled the shirt on over her outfit. "Just take Kitty's hand, she knows what to do."

"It might be easier if you closed your eyes," Kitty said, holding out one hand. "And don't worry, Mister Summers and Logan are waiting for us outside."

Taking a deep breath and not quite believing this was happening, Jess placed her hand in Kitty's and closed her eyes. She allowed herself to be led toward the back wall of the bathroom. As they walked, the noises from the restaurant faded and were rapidly replaced with street noise.

"What happened?" Jess asked, still clutching the teen's hand.

"You c'n open yer eyes," a gruff male voice told her.

With immense relief, Jess looked upon Dean's friend Logan. "Am I glad to see you," she declared.

He stared at her for a moment before shrugging and pointing out a car in the parking lot. "Yer boyfriend is over there, waitin'. It was 'bout all we could do ta keep 'im from chargin' in after ya."

Mister Summers nodded to her as she hurried toward the car, his focus on the restaurant. She supposed they were worried about Professor Xavier's escape now, not that she could blame them. She hoped the others would make it out unscathed.

Sam leaped at her as she approached to rush her into the passenger seat of the car. He jumped back in the driver's side and sped out of the parking area without a word. Once they were on the road and had taken a few turns rather sharp and fast, Sam glanced over at her.

"Are you all right? What happened?" he demanded, sounding more angry than worried. Knowing anger was one of Sam's coping mechanisms, she took it for extreme worry.

"I'm fine," she replied firmly, hoping to allay his fears.

"They didn't hurt you?" Sam asked, the anger more prominent in his tone.

"No one hurt me," Jess assured him. "They just wanted to talk to me about this mutant nonsense." A bolt of logic raced through her mind. "But it isn't really nonsense, is it? There are mutants."

Sam sighed deeply, his shoulders slouching in and a sheepish look on his face. "Uh, well, yeah, kind of."

"Kind of?" Jess asked. "Sam, either there are or there aren't. Don't give me 'kind of'."

He raked his fingers through his hair, a telltale sign of feeling unsure and vulnerable. "What did they tell you?"

Jess was not liking how this conversation was going. At least Xavier had been straight with her. "Sam, I want the truth and I want it now. Do you know, for a fact, if mutants exist?"

The next corner was taken too fast and Jess was forced up against the door. "Sam!"

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered. "Look, we'll be there soon. Can't this wait a few minutes?"

"I am not dropping it," she warned, crossing her arms to glare out the window. Replaying as much of her conversation with the Professor as she could in her mind, Jess waited impatiently for them to arrive. It was not until The Institute came into view that she understood where "there" was. Sam pulled up to the back entrance, which she had not seen before. The wrought iron gates opened for them and he drove through, not stopping until they were parked in an underground garage beneath the large mansion.

After shutting off the engine Sam stared at the steering wheel for a long moment before turning to face her. "Okay. What do you want to know?" He sounded like he was being asked to sign his own death warrant.

"Mutants," she declared.

Sam nodded slowly. "They're real, but they don't have anything to do with demons. Pastor Jim has a theory..." His voice trailed off and he bit at his lower lip. "Uh, what else?"

"Pastor Jim's theory?" Jess prodded.

Sam's head tilted back until he was staring at the roof of the car. "That mutants are a natural human defense against demons. Okay, you can call me crazy now."

"As in, you believe demons are real?" Jess asked. Now this part was even more startling than the whole mutants are real scenario. Not once had Sam ever admitted to believing in demons or demonic forces, only smiling politely as her father raged on about it.

Now his head fell forward and he looked out the front windshield at the wall in front of them. "They are." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Ghosts, demons, wendigos, you name it, it's really out there."

"Vampires?" As if this week could not grow any stranger.

"No, those are just a myth," Sam replied, still not looking her way.

"Your friend Pastor Jim knows about all of this?" Jess asked. "Demons and mutants and other things?"

"A lot more than I do," Sam replied with a single nod.

"You knew demons were real and you didn't tell me!" she shrieked, hitting him as hard in the shoulder as she could muster.

"Ow!" Sam looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since getting into the car, a hand to his shoulder. "What?"

"They can possess people, right?" Jess demanded. "What if one tried to possess me? I wouldn't know what to do, if I could do anything-"

"It won't happen," Sam interrupted with a sharp look. "First off, the demon has to have some kind of fear or insecurity, a chink in your armor, to exploit." He gave her a hard, knowing look while rubbing his shoulder. "You don't have one. Second, the necklace that Dean sent you?" Sam nodded at it.

Jess glanced down at the silver chain around her neck before nodding at him to continue.

"It protects the wearer from being possessed," he finished.

"You're kidding," she responded instantly.

"About demons and possessions? Never," he stated with a shake of his head.

"No wonder Dean made sure I was wearing it in the restaurant," Jess said slowly, her brain connecting the dots for the first time as she fingered the charm.

"He probably wanted to be sure it was really you," Sam said with a sigh.

"Wait," she stated, holding a hand up to stop him as another piece of information joined her line of connected dots. "What would happen if a demon, or someone possessed by a demon, touched my necklace?" She stared into Sam's worried gaze. "Could it burn his finger?"

"Uh, I'm not sure," Sam replied worriedly. "Why?"

"There was this...individual at Stryker's house," she began to explain.

"You were at his house?" Sam demanded, astounded.

"It's not like I had a choice, Sam," she snapped. "Anyway, this guy really gave me the creeps and he kept coming on to me." Her boyfriend's face tightened and his eyes narrowed. "I wish you'd been there."

"What happened?" he demanded, one of his hands balling into a fist. Jess doubted he was even aware of it.

"Well, when he was coming on to me, he touched me like this." She demonstrated on Sam, sliding her fingertip from his cheek down his neck, noticing that his skin was flushing with a deeper red every second. "But when he reached my necklace he yanked his hand away, like it burned. And I noticed that there was a burn mark on his finger. But he kind of disappeared before I could ask him about it. There was one other really odd thing about it."

Sam breathed heavily through his nose like it required every ounce of willpower he possessed not to go through the roof. With a deep breath, he nodded to her.

"Stryker referred to him as an angel."

Sam slumped back against his door, staring at her. "Well, that's just great," he muttered. "Dean overheard some of those Purifiers saying something about the boss having a personal angel, must be what they meant. Just our luck." A grunt escaped as he raked his hand nervously through his hair as he cast several glances at her.

"This is probably a stupid question, but, uh, are you? You know?" He shrugged, his innocent little boy face coming out. "All right?"

Normally when he acted like this she saw it as sweet, nice, maybe slightly patronizing. Now, however, Jess had the sense that Sam cared deeply for her, that the slightest injury to her, whether physical or psychological, would be viewed as severe. She slid her hand into his and he grasped it tight enough to endanger the circulation to her fingers.

"I'm okay," Jess assured him. An incredulous expression crossed his face. "Really, Sam. No one hurt me. Nothing 'happened.' Well, other than the weird way they abducted me."

"Which was?" he demanded, a darkness flickering over the little boy expression.

"I'm still not sure," Jess replied with a frown. "The last thing I remember was answering the door, I thought it was one of the staff bringing the towels I'd requested, and then nothing." She tried to appear convincing, she was telling the truth after all. "When I woke up, I was in Stryker's mansion."

"That was it?" Sam asked, his grip on her hand crushing. "Nothing else?"

"Well..." She wondered how he would take the whole 'yellow eyes' thing. "There was one odd thing. It may be nothing, but..." Jess sighed and would not continue until Sam placed his arm around her and made her feel safe. "When I opened the door at the hotel I thought I saw these awful yellow eyes. Then later, at Stryker's, there was this strange man." A shudder ripped through her body and both of Sam's arms encircled her. "He was the one Reverend Stryker called an angel. At one point I could have sworn his eyes flashed yellow." She shuddered again. "He really hates your brother."

"Come on," Sam said gently, pulling her with him to exit the car by the driver's door. "Libby is supposed to be waiting for us to call her and let her know what happened. I'm going to leave you with her to go check on Dean."

"No!" Her hand clamped down on his arm, which was more muscular than she remembered. "Don't you dare leave me alone again."

"I won't baby," he crooned gently, taking her into his arms and holding her. "I won't leave you. All right? I won't." Sam rocked her gently from side to side until her heart stopped racing in her chest and her hands were no longer trembling.

"There are things here you may not be ready to see," Sam warned her, still holding her in a safe embrace. "Maybe we should both go wait with Libby until Dean comes back."

She shook her head, her cheek rubbing against his chest. "No, we need to make sure he's all right. That they were able to escape." With a deep breath, Jess took a single step back, but she kept a hand clamped around his bicep.

With a sweet smile, he shook off her hand to lift his arm up, a clear invitation. Jess collapsed against his side to be taken into the Xavier Institute by the back way while being held protectively and possessively.


	94. Chapter 94: Not Safe

Hey folks! Sorry for the delay. I was kind of waiting for the glitchy review replies to be sorted out but they seemed to have turned into PMs. I am NOT answering all the reviews by PM. Sorry. Forget it. PMs are designed not to be done rapidly or in bulk which makes them a pretty lousy method for review replies. And I'm WAAAY behind on those.

So - to that end - for everyone who has reviewed and who has not received a reply - thank you for reviewing, it is always appreciated. I do read them! I appreciate all the comments and those of you who are kind enough to point out when I've let a plot line slip or forgotten one of those pesky details. THANK YOU! All of you are the reason this fic has reached the massive (I would say monstrous but that's rather pun-y) length it has. It was comments from reviewers who propelled this fic past the original seven chapters so far into AU territory I have to look back to see Left Field. It's been a fun ride! No, it's not quite over, but we are approaching Climax and Conclusion.

**Chapter 94: Rescued But Not Safe**

"Baby?" Jess asked, her head resting against her boyfriend's side with his arm protectively around her back. "Tell me about mutants. The truth."

Sam paused in the long lighted hall leading from the garage. Using his free hand he pushed her hair away from her face. "I thought I did. What else do you want to know?"

"They do exist?" Maybe if she kept asking, he would give her the answer she wanted to hear.

Sam sighed and nodded. "Until recently I didn't believe it either, but they do. It does take some getting used to."

"And you and Dean?" Jess asked. "Are you?"

With a glance ahead and behind them, Sam checked the empty corridor. He nodded at the floor before helping her to sit. The two of the them leaned back against the wall, his arm clamped over her shoulders.

"I guess you'd call us mutants," Sam finally said, his statement sounding more like a confession than an explanation.

"What about mutant 'powers'?" she asked, making air quotes with her fingers.

"All mutants have some kind of ability," Sam replied sheepishly. "It's kind of the point. But there is one thing all mutants seem to have in common."

"Which is?" Jess asked after a moment's pause, unsure if she wanted to know.

"Demons hate mutants," he replied, his tone firm and unfamiliar. "And it's mutual."

What was that old saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Which did she fear more, mutants or demons? Assuming that horrid man with the yellow flashing eyes was a demon and not an angel, those were the things to fear. Regardless, anyone who chose to side against him was a good guy in her book.

Tilting her head back to look him square in the eye, she asked, "And what's your ability?"

Sam chewed his lower lip before answering, his voice soft enough to be almost a whisper. "I'm a healer."

"Healer?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

Sam's hand ran down her arm as his eyes inspected every square inch. Then he did the same to her other arm. Finding a bruise on her upper left arm, which was not a surprise considering what had happened to her over the last twenty-four hours, Sam rubbed at the bruise with his thumb. Before her astonished eyes it faded until there was only healthy skin under his touch.

"I guess you never wondered why all of those papercuts healed so fast? Or why you never seemed to have any bruises even after tripping over the coffee table?" Sam asked with a proud smile.

"I did," she replied wonderingly, "but without a rational explanation..." Jess shrugged, staring at the place on her arm where a bruise had been. "Libby too?" She tore her gaze from her arm to look at Sam. "What's her ability?"

"She remembers everything she has ever read," Sam told her as a sour look came over him. "It's kind of annoying, to tell you the truth. But don't tell Dean I said that."

Jess chuckled, amazed by how safe she felt here in his arms. "And what about Dean?"

"That's kind of difficult to explain," Sam said with a sigh. "You see, Dean's abilities..." He grunted, running a hand through his thick hair and brushing it from his eyes. "Well, first off, he's an empath." Sam chuckled, drawing her into a tighter hug. "He says you seem to like me an awful lot."

"Don't change the subject," she warned, though she relaxed into his embrace. "You said first off. What else can he do?"

"I'm not sure how to explain it," Sam said, uncertainty in his voice. "See, the other stuff doesn't work on me, so I'm not really sure what he does. Exactly."

"What doesn't work on you?" Jess pressed, determined to hear her answer. This day had been one long horrible nightmare and was shaping up to end the same way, if Sam's attempts at avoidance were valid.

"Apparently he can, uh, influence how people...see him." Sam shrugged, his large body pressing against her back while his arms wound around her chest and held tight as if she might jump up and run away.

"Do you mean that literally or figuratively?" she asked softly. "Because in the restaurant I didn't recognize Dean at first as our waiter. I'm sure Stryker never did, not with the way he seems to hate Dean."

"Stryker hates all mutants," Sam said on a sigh. "I don't know what happened to convince him that mutants are demons, but he hates us all." His mouth lowered to press close to her ear. "What about you?"

"I don't hate you," she insisted, hanging on to his arms fiercely, feeling safe. It felt like only minutes ago that she thought she would never feel this way again. Safe. Then the rational part of her mind kicked in to wonder why he would ask that. Why Sam, of all people, would wonder if she hated him? Hadn't they said those all important words? Hadn't he said he loved her too? Then the image of her father on one of his anti-mutant tirades invaded her thoughts.

Oh, crap.

Jess squirmed in his embrace to look up at her boyfriend. "I could never hate you," she promised, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I promise, baby."

The reply was merely a nod and being held tighter. She supposed it would have to be enough. Dean was an empath and could influence how people saw him, and it angered Stryker he could do that. Literally. It would make Stryker angriest if it was literally. Actually, if it was both would really put the man out.

"It's both, isn't it?" she asked after they sat in silence, Sam's arms wrapped protectively around her.

"What's both?" Sam asked in a gentle voice.

"Your brother," she replied, craning her neck to look up at him. "It's literally and figuratively, right? That he can change the way people see him. Both?"

"I'm pretty sure," Sam agreed. "Like I said, it doesn't work on me, so I'm only going off what they tell me."

"Why wouldn't it work on you?" Jess asked, her curiosity getting the best of her once again.

"Honestly, I don't really understand that part," Sam replied slowly. "It has something to do with the bonds empaths form." He shrugged again. "I guess the more important you are to him, the less he can influence the way you see him."

A nervous chuckle escaped her. "We should all be so lucky." She grasped his arms with her hands, hanging on tight. "I hope you see me for who I am, not what my father believes."

"I do." His voice was barely above a whisper but she believed him. Relieved, she moved to straddle his lap, her focus his mouth. She kissed him the way she had been dreaming of since waking in a strange room this morning, since coming to the realization that she might never see him again. He returned her kiss, one hand buried in her hair gripping tight and the other hand pressed into her lower back holding her close.

When Sam pulled away to look over her shoulder she was momentarily confused.

"Sorry, Hank." His sweet little boy smile appeared. "Is Dean worried?"

Hank? Jess turned her head to spy a large blue furred creature looming over them in the underground corridor. Scrambling off her boyfriend's lap, she huddled against him for protection. The blue creature chuckled, peering at her over his gold rimmed glasses.

"Isn't he always? Ah. This must be the famous Jessica," the creature intoned. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last, my dear."

Sam stood, pulling her with him. Grasping her elbow, he pushed her arm out in the offer of a friendly handshake. The beast gently shook her hand.

"A pleasure," it said.

"Jess, this is Doctor McCoy," Sam told her.

Her head snapped to the side to look at him. "Doctor? Your doctor?"

"I am," the creature assured her. "You must have questions and I am currently under strict orders to locate you two and make certain that Miss Jessica was not mistreated during her stay with a certain self-proclaimed reverend." With a wide sweep of his arm he indicated where they needed to go. "To the infirmary, please."

Sam's arm remained firmly around her shoulders as she was guided through the maze of underground corridors to a high tech medical room. Jess guessed not only could examinations be performed here, but minor surgeries as well. Remembering Stryker's assertion about the Xavier Institute being the training grounds of a mutant army filled her with unease as she surveyed the room.

"Impressive," she said stiffly. "Do you ever need all of this?"

The creature who claimed to be a doctor showed her his teeth in what might be a smile. "I am required to deal with numerous issues of a genetic nature." A furry clawed hand pointed to a large metal cabinet. "That, for example, was how I was able to determine that Sam and his brother are genetic carriers of the mutant gene rather than first generation mutations."

Jess spun around to peer at Sam. "So your father? And Adam?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It's from our mother's side. Dad and Adam are perfectly normal."

The blue creature grunted, turning away to lead them to an examination table. "There are many adjectives which could be used to describe your father, Sam. I'm afraid normal is not one of them."

A sad, dark chuckle came from her boyfriend as his gaze landed on her. "Go on," he encouraged softly, "it won't take long. We don't like to make Dean really worry."

"Certainly not," the blue beast added, patting a furry (claw?) hand on the table. "Dean seriously worried is a most unpleasant experience for us all. Come here, my dear. I promise to be quick."

Without moving from her spot, she locked eyes with the creature. "Will you test me too?" she asked. "To see if I could be a carrier?"

The beast of a doctor frowned and tugged at a tuft of fur on his cheek. "If you like," he replied slowly.

"Why?" Sam whispered before she could step closer to the exam table.

She hesitated before looking up at him, at the expectation of being spurned. How long had he known? How long had he feared her learning the truth? And yet he never came out and fully lied to her either, a fact she took solace in. Perhaps he had hoped to be able to tell her the whole truth someday.

"I have to know," she told him. Then she headed for the table and another major change in her life.

–

* * *

"Ya did good, kid," Logan said in his gruff tone. By the way his friend was gazing at the girl in the back seat, Dean knew the compliment was not for him.

"Thanks, Logan," Kitty replied with a smile.

"But why'd you come out way the hell over to th' side?" he demanded, slinging an arm over the front seat of the Impala to look at her. "We was expectin' you right there near the door."

In the rearview mirror, Dean caught a glimpse of the girl frowning. "I couldn't," she replied after a brief silence. "There was something in the wall there and I couldn't go through it, so we went around."

Mentally Dean ran through the building schematics in his head, the ones they studied while planning this operation. "Fuse box?" he asked Logan.

Logan shrugged. "Maybe. Don't know why that would bother her."

"Oh, I don't like fuse boxes," Kitty told them, drawing Logan's focus again. "They're almost as bad as demons."

"Fuse box," he insisted, slightly surprised when Logan said it with him in agreement.

"Hank'll want to test that, if we tell him," Logan said, the warning clear in his tone.

"Don't you think we should?" Dean asked. "If it really could hurt her..."

Logan grunted, the cigar in his mouth bobbing aggressively up and down. "I'll tell 'im."

Kitty groaned from the back seat. "More tests? Oh, come on! Haven't we been tested enough already? I think I'm going to run out of blood." She was growing agitated though he could not tell if it was from the threat of medical tests or just being poked with a needle again.

Logan's answer was a snort and one of those looks Dean knew meant 'tough, it's happenin' kid, deal.' In the rearview mirror he saw Kitty roll her eyes then stare out the side window.

"Maybe Hank won't need to take blood this time," he suggested. "There are other kinds of tests, you know."

"Don't be so grumpy," Logan told her. "You got ta go on a mission. Ain't you been wanting to do that?"

"Yeah." She was still looking out the window. "I guess it was kind of cool."

"Kind of cool," Dean repeated, hoping to lighten the mood. He threw an elbow into Logan's arm. "Next she'll be wanting a uniform likes yours, only with blinking neon lights."

"Would you quit with that?" Logan protested. "They're black now. You got one!"

"Uniform?" Kitty's chin rested on the back of their seat, her gaze darting between them. "What kind of uniform? How do I get one?" She was thrilled with the prospect, as he suspected.

"That's up to the Professor," Logan replied and Dean couldn't quite make out the look shot his way, but the loss of tension in the car was enough to let him know he had been successful.

The Institute, like a beacon to home, was visible when they rounded the next corner.

"I wonder how Jess is doing?" he mused aloud.

"Fine," Logan snapped. "Don't you dare start worryin' for nothin', kid. You hear me?"

"I was just wondering," Dean protested. Hey, he might be able to have a little fun now. "You don't think Libby's been worried about us, do you?"

"Ah!" Logan's head slammed back against the headrest and pure aggravation flooded the car.

Success! He chuckled until Logan popped him lightly in the arm. Then he laughed.

"Stupid kid," Logan grumbled but the aggravation evened out, replaced with a low level of amusement.

"You two really are friends, aren't you?" Kitty asked. "Good friends?"

"So?" Logan demanded, shifting slightly to the side to look at her. "What's wrong with that?"

"Wrong?" Confusion flowed steadily from her. "Uh, nothing. You just seem so different."

Logan snorted, his cigar shifting to the other side of his mouth. "That's what you think."

"How many times have you sneaked into the danger room since I've been here?" Dean asked.

Logan's aggravation spiked up again as he turned to glare at her. "Better tell the truth, you know he c'n tell when you're lyin'."

Kitty appeared sullen and reluctant. "I like the way the ghosts dissolve when you shoot them."

Dean waved his thumb between him and Logan. "We think that's fun."

"And relaxin'," Logan added. He shot Kitty another glare. "But you need to stay outta there without one of us around."

"I have permission to go to the Danger Room with you?" she asked brightly.

"She's too smart for you," Dean warned him.

"No kiddin'," Logan mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the window. "Are we there yet?"

–

* * *

Libby was checking in a rather large stack of returned books when her phone rang. It was Hank's lab extension.

"Elizabeth," he stated before she had the opportunity to speak, "Sam and Jessica are here. There are some test results I need to explain and I would appreciate your assistance. How quickly can you come?"

"Right now," she assured him. "Is Jessica all right? Dean should be here in a few minutes."

"She is unharmed," Hank replied. "Please don't wait. I would prefer to do this immediately."

Libby pointed out her stack to Julie, who favored her with a nasty look in reply, before rushing out. She tried not to run across the campus but Hank had her feeling a little panicked. Several kids shot her odd looks as she raced for the mansion.

"Librarian?" Bobby Drake ran up to fall in step beside her. "I mean Miss, uh... Miss Libby?"

"What?" she said, her breathing slightly labored from her rush. The Libby nickname was all over campus now, there was no going back. Not without breaking up with Dean and that was not happening.

"I know there was a mission. They took Kitty with them," the boy said, jogging beside her. She had not realized her pace was quite that fast. "Are they all right? Kitty and Dean?"

She stopped short, Bobby Drake circling around to face her. "You know his real name?" Despite how often Dean mentioned Bobby, and it was often confusing considering one of his family friends also went by Bobby, Libby had not realized how close her boyfriend felt to this student.

"Yeah, he said I could call him by it because..." Bobby frowned and shrugged. "Just because."

She doubted it was 'just because' but there was no time to push the point. "Dean called about ten minutes ago. They're fine." Libby resumed her trek towards the mansion.

"Kitty too?" Bobby asked worriedly, dogging her steps.

"Yes," Libby assured him, "Kitty too."

"Then why were you running across campus?" he persisted as she entered the mansion

"I wasn't running," Libby argued, "and it doesn't concern you. At least," she relented, "I don't think it does."

"You don't _think_?" Bobby fell in step beside her. "What does that mean?"

"If Dean has you calling him by his first name, his real one, then you're obviously very close," Libby reasoned. "That means whatever is going on with Sam and his girlfriend you may be hearing about from Dean anyway, so I guess you can come along if you want."

"Cool." Bobby did not ask any more questions until they were in the underground tunnels. "Then they were able to get Jessica back."

It was a statement, not a question. Since she had not mentioned the abduction and it was not common knowledge among the students, Libby could only conclude that Dean himself had told Bobby.

"Yes," Libby replied, "and no, I don't know if she's all right yet. Doctor McCoy asked me to come down before he told them Jessica's test results."

Bobby chuckled, a grin of pure delight crossing his face. "Oh, I really hope this means what I think it means."

"I have no idea what that means," Libby replied sternly.

"It means I've had dinner at her house. With her family." The grin was gone and the expression on his face had Libby wondering if she would rather have Dean here or if she was glad he wasn't. "Her father is nuts."

"Logan had some more colorful phrases," Libby said on a sigh.

"And I agree with them," Bobby replied with a nod. "I'm going in with you." He paused, his hand hovering in the air over her shoulder before clamping down firmly. Even though she knew he was only fifteen he was a couple of inches taller than her. "I'm going with you. You may need backup."

"Dean will be here soon," Libby reminded him, shaking off his hand. They wound through the corridors to the lab.

"Until he gets back, I'm sticking by you," Bobby announced. "It's the least I can do."

"You do realize I'm the adult here, don't you?" Libby asked as they approached the door to Hank's lab.

"And I know if anything happens to you, your boyfriend would go ballistic," he replied. "Personally, I'd rather not see ballistic. First Dean, then Logan, then Mister Winchester..." Bobby sighed and shook his head. "Might not be much of the state left. I'm sticking with you until Dean is back."

She paused with her hand on the doorknob to the lab. "Really?" Libby turned her head to regard the teen, who at the moment appeared to be more of a young man than a boy. His whole body was tense, his face reflecting how serious he considered their situation, and his eyes were cold, hard, old beyond his years.

"Really," he ground out, his hand clamping down on her shoulder again as he moved to stand behind her. "Let's go in."

It might be unreasonable but his statement filled her with a sense of belonging and confidence. The hand gripping tight gave her a feeling of security as well. Whatever lay beyond this door she could handle.

Hank stood near the door peering into one of his instruments.

"Hank?" she asked from the doorway, not wanting to startle the doctor.

One large furred claw waved them inside. "Over here Librarian," he said. His head lifted from the instrument and he pulled his glasses from his lab coat to perch on his nose. "Most disturbing."

"What is?" Libby demanded. Between the curt phonecall and Bobby's odd protectiveness, she was feeling a little out of sorts.

"Elizabeth, have you read any books regarding genetic blood clotting diseases?" Hank asked, his frown visible even through his facial fur.

"Some," she replied. At the moment Bobby's hand was a comfort. Where was Hank going with this?

"It is the F5 gene I am referring to," Hank replied.

Her mind instantly began churning through the information she had read and cross referencing it with conditions which would be easily undiagnosed in a young woman. "Factor V Leiden?" she guessed.

Hank sighed and nodded. "Unfortunately, Jessica is so uncomfortable around me I can not convince her to open up about any medications she is taking. However, judging by this," he waved at his instrument, "I would have to guess she is taking oral contraceptives."

"Thrombophilia?" Libby asked. All she knew was what she had read and, to be perfectly frank, over half of it made very little sense to her. "Excessive clotting?"

"Perhaps," Hank sighed. "Miss Jessica definitely carries the genetic condition but only one copy, fortunately. She has apparently had no issues before now, however I see a tendency towards full blown thrombophilia. I would guess that something has changed."

"Isn't that better than no clotting?" Bobby asked.

Hank shrugged. "Each can be equally fatal if the condition is unknown. Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Professor Hunter isn't here," Bobby replied. "I'm supposed to be in Demons right now."

"I see." Hank's gaze snapped back to her. "I would be most grateful if you would speak to her and attempt to explain the situation. Considering her background, being told she carries a genetic condition could be most difficult."

"No kidding," Bobby muttered over her shoulder. He still held tightly to her.

"I would think being told by someone who appears as I do would make it worse," Hank added.

Unfortunately, he was right. But that left the dirty work to her. Great. Just freaking great.


	95. Chapter 95: Examinations

**Chapter 95: Examinations**

Jessica could not decide if she was relieved to see Libby or curious about why she was here. Libby smiled broadly, opening her arms in welcome.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're back," she gushed, hugging Jess.

A teen boy, one of the kids she had seen hanging around Sam's brother, stood close behind Libby. How odd. His stance was highly protective. It was almost as if he thought Libby might be in danger. But the only people here were her and Sam. Who would Libby be in danger from?

"What's going on?" Jess asked suspiciously. "What did that..." She stopped herself. 'That doctor' sounded overly negative. There were many aspects of her upbringing she would need to become conscious of in order to overcome. "Did Doctor McCoy tell you something? We thought he would be back with my test results by now."

Libby exchanged a glance with the teen boy behind her before nodding to the exam bed. "Maybe you'd better sit down."

Bewildered, Jess jumped up to sit. Surely they would not be treating her with kid gloves if she tested positive for this mutant gene. Sam had it. If she did too it would bond them together. Of course, children would be out of the question. Two mutants having a child? Poor thing might be born with three heads. No, that was a bad idea.

Her feet dangled above the floor as she waited patiently for Libby to bring on the bad news, whatever it was. Briefly a tense, serious expression crossed the librarian's face, but it was quickly replaced with a warm smile.

"Well, first off, you don't carry even a recessive version of the mutant gene," Libby began. Jess heard Sam breathe out in relief. She glanced at him watching her with worried eyes before focusing on Libby again.

"But?" she prompted. "I know you didn't make me sit down to tell me good news."

The boy moved closer behind Libby, a hand on each of her shoulders as he glared at her around Libby's head.

"There is a genetic condition called Factor V Leiden which can cause thrombophilia," Libby said.

Jess simply blinked at the librarian for a moment. "Am I going to need a medical dictionary for this?"

"Thrombophilia is excessive blood clotting," Libby told her. "Think of it as the opposite to hemophilia. But it's most dangerous if undiagnosed."

All she could manage was "Huh?"

"Now that you know, you can set up regular visits with your doctor or a specialist to monitor your condition, in case it worsens," Libby hastened to add.

"I have...what?" Jess whispered. Her attention snapped to the side where Sam stood. "What did she say?"

But he was looking at Libby. "How serious is it? And can it be treated?"

"It would be better if you asked Doctor McCoy those questions," Libby told him, "but Sam, this is not a death sentence. All right? Oh." Libby snapped her fingers, a thought coming to her suddenly as she spun to face Jess. "If you're using oral contraceptives that might not be a good idea with this condition. You'd better tell Doctor McCoy right away and discuss it with your personal physician as soon as you go back home."

"We're not going anywhere," Sam replied heavily. "Give us ten minutes and then ask Hank to come back in."

Libby nodded at him while still focused on Jess. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Uh...ten minutes," Jess stammered, echoing her boyfriend's request. Her brain chose not to function yet, this new information bouncing off the hard shell of denial surrounding it.

Before leaving Libby grasped both of her hands and held tight. "Remember, anything you need, we're here for you. All right? All you have to do is ask."

Jess managed a nod, figuring it was the only way to make the librarian leave. Libby looked like she wanted to stay. For the first time the mousy librarian did not appear so mousy, at the moment she seemed quite formidable and steady, a supportive rock. Maybe later she would consider it. Not now. There was too much to think about right now. If she could.

Libby and the boy left her alone with Sam. Her boyfriend sat next to her on the exam table and wrapped his long arms around her. His strong fingers stroked through her hair, massaging her scalp and providing a level of safety and security she had been starting to believe was no longer possible.

"I'm sticking by you," he murmured softly, holding her tight. "No matter what."

She didn't know until he said it, but those were the words she needed to hear. A floodgate of emotions opened: anger, horror, terror, disbelief, sorrow, and fear. They poured from her as a torrent of tears flowed down her cheeks and she clutched Sam's shirt with both fists. At one point she thought she heard him speak but she could not answer. He simply held her close and rubbed her back while her emotions ran rampant.

Then, slowly, a sense of calm enveloped her. The feeling that everything would be all right, that she could handle whatever Life threw her way, filled her. She panted for a moment trying to catch her breath. Silently Sam offered his shirttail for her to wipe her face. Jess used the soft plaid to scour away the evidence of her breakdown. She suspected her face was all red and blotchy.

"I must look terrible," she mumbled.

"Sshhh," Sam whispered with a grin. "I think Dean is outside the door." He brushed her hair away from her face. "If we let him in you'll feel even better. Promise."

Jess heaved a huge breath before nodding.

"Come on in, Dean," Sam called out.

Instantly the door opened to admit his brother still wearing waiter's clothes from the restaurant.

"I thought that was you," Jess said rubbing at her eye with a fist.

His charming smile appeared. "How are you doing, pretty lady?"

"Better," she sighed, snuggling against Sam. "I just...I don't know what to think."

"Hank and I've been talking with Professor Xavier," Dean told them. "We think you two need to stay on campus. Logan has gone to the hotel to pack your stuff and check you out."

"Tell him thanks," Sam said, stroking a hand down her back. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

"Why?" Jess asked, daring to look up into her boyfriend's kind face and warm smile.

"Because..." Sam sighed and a decidedly guilty look crossed his face. "Because they've installed heavy duty protections against demons on the whole campus. It's safe here."

"Is it all right if I stay in Sam's room?" she asked Dean. "I mean, I know this is a school and all, but-"

"Oh, yeah," Dean interrupted, grinning a little too brightly as he rocked up on the balls of his feet, "no problem. You'll stay in the teacher's wing, in my room. I'll bunk with Libby."

"So you still have separate rooms?" Sam asked. Jess barely recognized the teasing tone, she heard it so rarely.

"Yes," Dean snapped. "We're, you know, taking things slow."

"Not that slow," Jess told him. When he gave her a funny look, she added, "I've seen the way you two look at each other."

His cheeks actually flushed pink as he stuffed his hands in his front pockets and Sam chuckled.

"I know why Logan growls around you two all the time," Sam said, sounding highly amused. "You and Libby are disgusting."

Dean broke eye contact to gaze at the wall, ceiling, floor, anywhere but at them. Sam chuckled again.

"No, man, it's good," he said to his brother. "Honest. I hope you two make it another two weeks."

Dean's gaze, hard and steady, snapped to his brother. "Asshole."

"Hey, I learned from the best," Sam said in that same teasing tone. "You big jerk."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean muttered, his glare softening. "Bitch."

Sam laughed harder at that one though Jess could not imagine why. "Can you stick around while we talk to Hank?"

Dean nodded before going to the door to let in Doctor McCoy. This time the blue hairy beast was one of the most welcome sights she had ever seen. He represented hope and the future.

Jess cut her eyes to the side where Dean stood. Was he doing this? Was he making her feel this way? And honestly, did she care if he was doing it? She could handle this outrageously strange situation now where before her emotions had been too out of control. Honestly, she owed Sam's brother. If it was him. It was almost impossible to believe anyone, mutant or otherwise, could influence someone's emotions this way.

Doctor McCoy tried to explain symptoms to watch for but she could not follow any of it. Jess hoped Sam was paying attention. If the expression he bore was anything to go by, he was memorizing every word the doctor said. After what felt like endless explanations, Dean interrupted.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starved and tired. In that order." He spun to her, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "How about we all hit the cafeteria and then some sack time?"

"Dressed like that?" Jess asked skeptically. For the first time she felt relaxed enough around Sam's brother to try teasing.

"What?" Dean asked, looking down at himself. "I look hot as a waiter."

"Oh, God," Sam mumbled, shaking his head.

"No one asked you, princess," Dean snapped at his brother. Then he held out his elbow to her. "Madame? Care to join us?"

"If you promise Libby is going," she said, placing her hand in the crook of his arm as she hopped off the exam table.

"She's waiting on us in the next room," he promised as Sam opened the door for them. "Have I told you how far out of my brother's league you are?"

"Once or twice," Jess agreed, spotting Libby. The prim librarian grinned widely at them before rushing to open the door out of this place, back to regular people.

Back to mutants, Jess reminded herself. Then she looked at the faces surrounding her, Sam and Dean, Libby and the teenage boy. They were people. Just like her and her family. That was the key, the secret jerks like Stryker did not want you to notice: they were all people. She entwined her other arm with Sam's as they walked four abreast down the hall, the teen trailing behind Dean and Libby. Libby hung on to Dean's other side listening intently as he began a rather embarrassing story about Sam as a boy.

Seeing this for a good sign, Dean telling stories of Sam like a proud parent, Jess chose to forget about the things she just learned and to enjoy this brief shining moment. Really good moments like this rarely lasted.

–

* * *

Libby kicked off her shoes, the very sensible slip-ons making only a brief clatter as they made contact with the wall beside her small television. She stretched and yawned.

"Tired, Baby?" Dean asked her, dropping down to sit beside her.

"You tell me," she insisted, ending in another yawn.

He chuckled, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. "Thanks. You did great today."

Libby stared at her boyfriend for a moment. "Actually, I think that is supposed to be my line."

Dean shook his head and bodily turned her to face away from him. Then his strong hands began to sensually massage her shoulders. "Nope. Not this time. You did all the hard work today."

"I wasn't the one who saved Jessica from her abductors, who are professional mercenaries, I might add," Libby stated.

A gentle kiss landed on the side of her neck. "Wasn't just me," he murmured before resuming her massage. "Besides, that wasn't the hard part. You had to tell her those test results." He sighed, his hands working lower, kneading into the middle of her back.

"You could've made her feel better about it," she argued.

His thumbs dug in just below her shoulderblades hitting a sore spot she had not known was there. She hissed through her teeth.

"Easy," he crooned, still working the spot, "you'll feel better in a minute." Another kiss landed on the back of her bare neck. When his hands released the sore spot and shifted lower, the pain was replaced with a lack of pain, a good feeling. It was as if she had been storing tension right there and her boyfriend had managed to massage it away. She felt more relaxed than she had in days, maybe weeks.

"No, I couldn't have," he said firmly, his magic hands dropping away. She turned back to talk to him face to face. "There are different levels of emotions people have to go through before they can accept something like that. The first is anger and rejection." One rough palm lifted to gently caress her cheek. "You had to deal with that part. That's the one I suck at. She was full into self-pity when I came in."

"Are you good at that one?" Libby asked curiously.

"You have met Dad, right?" he asked sarcastically.

"He doesn't strike me as the type for-" she started to say.

"Oh, he's one of the world's worst," Dean interrupted, "do not get me started on him."

"All right," she agreed, snuggling closer on the small sofa. "How do you think Jessica is doing now?"

"Better," he assured her. "But don't think this is it, that she has accepted it and is ready to tackle the rest of her life now. She still has a long way to go." He sighed, pulling her head against his shoulder before wrapping both arms tightly around her. "I keep wondering what it's like for Sam."

"You mean if he can accept it?" she asked.

She felt his head shake, his chin rotating on her scalp. "No, I mean how worried this is going to make him. It's genetic, Baby. That means he can't fix it."

"I'm sure it won't stop him from trying," she observed.

His body went stiff, frozen. "What?" he whispered.

"I said, I'm sure it won't stop him-"

In a flash, Dean leaped from her sofa halfway to the door nearly knocking her to the floor in his haste. The door banged loudly against the inner wall when he threw it open, the doorknob leaving a dent in the wall. Libby raced after him, confused and feeling a little dazed. Skidding to a halt outside the door to his room, Dean tried the knob first then started pounding frantically.

"Sam!" he shouted, beating on the wood. "Damn it, Sam! Open up!"

Several doors in the corridor opened, various staff members peeking out. Logan, in his sleeping shorts and sleeveless shirt, padded barefoot to stand near Dean.

"Problem, kid?" he asked.

With a scowl, Dean stepped back and lifted his foot to send it crashing into the door. It did not bounce back, the doorknob embedded firmly inside the wall from impact. Dean raced inside.

Logan held his arms out wide, standing guard in front of the open door. "All right, nuthin' to see here. Go on back ta sleep."

"Sam!" Dean's voice came from inside the room. "Damn it, Sam! Stop it!"

Finally the floor released her feet, allowing her to rush to the open door of Dean's room around Logan's outstretched arms. Dean stood on one side of the bed pulling his brother away from Jessica, who was stretched out on the bed. Sam reached for his girlfriend, eyes wide and panting lightly.

"I just need to find it, Dean," Sam argued, squirming his brother's grasp, "then I can fix it."

Dean wrestled his larger brother away from the bed, Sam's back to his chest, both arms fixed firmly over his brother's chest. "No, Sam," he said gently. "You can't fix it. I know you want to, but you can't."

He bodily dragged his brother from the room, Sam arguing and reaching for Jess the whole time.

"Lib? Look after Jess?" Dean asked as he wrestled his brother past her.

She exchanged a knowing look with Logan before stepping inside the room. It took three attempts but she managed to pull the doorknob free of the wall. With the door closed and Logan standing guard outside they would have a little privacy.

Jessica sat up in the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Sam said he was a healer."

Libby sat on the end of the bed, her mind racing for a way to explain that would make sense to an outsider.

"Healers are...rare," she began. "There are only three total that Professor Xavier has ever found. One is Sam. Another works a traveling clinic and helps out with severe but not mortal injuries. The third lives in a small cabin out in the middle of some national forest and refuses to have contact with anyone."

Jessica frowned, clutching her legs. "Why would anyone do that?"

"It is the nature of healers to want to help," Libby explained. "If you get any kind of cut, scrape or bruise when you're around one, the minor injury will disappear. A healer will look for the first opportunity to touch you in order to heal it. Hank has concluded from his observations that healing minor things like that gives a healer a rush. Like a runner's high."

Jess nodded, her gaze flickering between Libby and the closed door. "Then why did Dean drag Sam out of here?"

"The small healings make him feel good, not just about himself but physically as well," Libby continued. "But to heal something big, like a collapsed lung, that requires a lot of energy, a lot of the healer's energy. If the healer isn't careful he can expend too much energy. That's dangerous." She saw understanding flicker across Jess' face. "Sam trying to heal a genetic condition could have serious repercussions. For Sam." Libby hoped to impress the magnitude of the situation on Jess otherwise it was guaranteed to happen again and Dean might not be nearby to stop it the next time.

Jess' gaze darted to the closed door and intense worry, the kind visitors to emergency rooms wore, blanketed her face. "You mean Sam...? Is he...?"

"If anyone knows about using too much energy, it's Dean," Libby admitted with a sigh. "He'll take care of his brother. But you're the only one who can stop him from trying it again. You both need to accept that this is a situation you can not control or change." She slammed a fist into the mattress next to her to emphasize her point.

"You don't understand-" Jess whined, tears in her eyes.

"What don't I understand?" Libby demanded, perhaps a little harshly. "I don't understand about genetic conditions? Or how about having a boyfriend who has to eat every two hours so he doesn't pass out? Maybe I don't understand about the fact when two people who carry dominate forms of the mutant gene procreate that their child is guaranteed to be a mutant and I haven't decided if that's a good thing or not?" She stood, feeling too confined sitting on the bed. "Or don't I understand that family is everything, and I mean everything to Dean? That he wants one of his own more than breathing only he can't admit it? Or don't I understand how god-damned dysfunctional every freaking family on the planet is?

"Did you know that over half the students at this school are not only here year round, but have no place to go if they wanted to leave?" she demanded, spinning in place to face Jess. Jess sat staring at her in rapt silence, the tears gone. "Do you want to know why?" Her voice rose but she could not help it.

Libby waited but Jessica did not answer her. "Well? Don't you want to know why?"

Jessica Moore, psych major, future therapist, shook her head. _F-ing hypocrite._

"Too bad, because I'm going to tell you anyway," Libby snapped, glaring down at her. "It's because their families don't want anything to do with them simply because they are mutants." She glared hotly as if the situation were all Jessica's fault.

"I'm sorry," the young woman mumbled, eyes downcast.

"Look at me!" Libby insisted loud enough for most of this floor to hear. Jess' gaze sprang up to her. "I didn't say it was your fault but intolerance, the refusal to accept what is, and avoidance of reality are all contributing factors. Right now you're guilty of all three."

Good God, Sam was going to hate her forever. Well, he would if she left it like this. She tried to reign in her out of control emotions. If she let this continue would Dean come racing back to see what was wrong with her? Libby preferred not to risk it. There was enough to deal with at the moment.

"If you care at all about Sam, you won't let him try to heal you of a genetic condition," Libby stated firmly. "It could kill him. And I mean that literally."

Taking a deep breath to force a sense of calm and control, Libby stepped closer to the bed and Jessica. "Every single person here has some kind of genetic condition. Some of us can't leave the campus because of outward physical appearances, like Doctor McCoy." She held out her hand. "I keep telling you that you don't have to be alone in this. Are you going to let us help you or not?"

Jessica stared at her offered hand for what felt like an eternity. Then slowly the other woman grasped it and held on tight, allowing Libby to pull her to her feet.

"We should switch," Jess said in a strained voice, as if she were on the verge of tears again. "You'd make a great therapist."

The suggestion made Libby laugh. "I don't think so. I think I'd lose my temper a few times a day. Besides, you would make a lousy librarian." She turned Jess towards the door, wrapping an arm around her back. "And I think if you work through this, you may find ways of helping other people in similar situations."

Jess heaved a large sigh. "Great. I haven't finished my undergrad and I already have a specialty."

"Ready to check on Sam?" Libby asked gently. Jess nodded, following her suggestion meekly.

–

* * *

As she was led to Libby's room where she could hear Dean giving his brother the talking-to of a lifetime, Jess came to a decision. She could not, would not, allow Sam to try that again. Perhaps he could look for excessive clotting in her body and try to unclot it, or whatever, but not anything that might hurt him. Here she was surrounded by people who were all affected by unusual genetics, there was no reason to feel she was alone, that no one could understand. Just because they did not all have her condition did not mean they could not sympathize.

What about school? Here she had completely forgotten about going back to school. She and Sam had not even discussed it. Sam wanted them to stay here. Period. She was years from a degree. What could she do here? But what choice did she have with a demon on the loose? A demon she had met personally. A cold chill raced up her spine at the thought.

They stepped inside Libby's room which was more of a tiny apartment than a simple room. Dean paused in his tirade, the extreme irritation showing on his face when he turned to them. Jess could tell he was going to hide it, that he would turn on the charm any second.

"He's right, Sam," she said, feeling defeated. It had been an easy way out, a means of not dealing with a serious situation. Kind of like... No, she was not going there. At any rate, it could have seriously harmed her boyfriend. "We can't try that again."

"But if I could find it," he argued, "I'm sure I could fix it."

Dean groaned, his head snapping back. "Sam!"

"You can't and you know you can't," Libby stated firmly. The mousy librarian currently bore a striking resemblance to a drill sergeant in her tone. "Do you really want to kill yourself trying? Then you'd be no use to anyone and I'd have to deal with your brother's guilt and grief over it. For years!"

Jess walked forward until she stood face to face with Sam. She reached up and caressed his cheek. "No, Baby. Not that way. I can't let you hurt yourself. Okay?"

With a deep sigh Sam nodded, then he kissed her palm before hugging her tightly.

Dean stormed around them, still edgy and tense. "Give 'em a damn room alone for a little happy to be alive nookie and what happens?" he growled as he rushed past the librarian girlfriend.

"Dean?" Sam lifted his gaze from Jess to peer forlornly out the open door.

"He's going to the gym with Logan," Libby announced as she closed the door. "Would anyone like a snack? I have a new recipe for apple turnovers I've been wanting to try out."


	96. Chapter 96: Game Plan

A/N: It was pointed out in a review that I owed you all a note. Duh. Yes, I've been away for quite a while and left this poor story dangling without mercy. My apologies for that. However I'm back and determined to finish this monster fic. (I thought Light & Dark was huge - it pales in comparison to WWW!) There will be over 15 more chapters which I hope to post once a week. And yes, I've pre-written enough to carry us through November writing madness. (NaNoWriMo - if you're a writer and never heard of it - go check it out.)

* * *

**Chapter 96: Game Plan**

Reverend Stryker paced his office, hands clasped behind his back, feet making hard thumps against the thick carpeting. His skin felt like a thousand ants were crawling over every inch. His teeth ground together.

"The mistake," the angel's voice said from the far corner of the room, "was in meeting Xavier in a public place. With his mutants he'll always have the upper hand in public."

Stryker paused in his frenzied pacing to watch the angel, his anger making him forget that he had not been given permission to do so. The angel appeared as a man, a blue collar worker. The angel walked with a casualness that belied superior knowledge or ability. He helped himself to some of Stryker's hard liquor from the cabinet behind his desk.

"Ah," the angel said, smacking his lips, "the good stuff. Would you like to hear what you need to do? To get Xavier?"

Jaw clenched, Stryker nodded. For one of the few times in his life he was unable to find words.

The angel pointed at him around the drinking glass. "You need one of those mutant kids. Preferably one close to Xavier or Winchester. Either way would work. See, if it's someone close to Xavier, he'll want to rush to the rescue. And if it's someone close to Dean Winchester, well, Dean will make Xavier want to rush to the rescue. Simple, isn't it?"

Stryker glared at his personal angel, whom he had expected to be watching over his meeting with Xavier. The meeting which ended disastrously. The angel's eyes met his and a knowing smile creased the weathered face.

"Ah. You're angry. With me?" He chuckled, helping himself to another glass. "I'm afraid I had more important things to do. I thought you could handle it." He sipped at his glass. "Live and learn."

The angel plunked down in an armchair. "The way I see it, the only problems with grabbing a mutant kid are number one, they don't leave the school, and number two, nabbing the right one. But I can help with those." His smile warmed.

Stryker sat in the chair opposite to listen. He wondered briefly if he should call his assistant in to take notes.

"Nah, better leave this just between us," the angel said with a glance at the office door. "There's one mutant kid who is real bad news, worse than Winchester."

Stryker nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as he wondered how that was even possible.

"I know, I know, you don't think there could be anyone worse. Well there is. His name is Bobby Drake," the angel continued. "And I know where his parents live." Yellow fire danced in the angel's eyes, the heavenly fire of the righteous. "Momma doesn't work and the house is off limits, but they have to eat, right? Grocery stores are a great place to pick up women." He chuckled loudly before downing half the amber liquid in his glass.

"When the Drake brat leaves that stupid school to go save dear ol' mom, your guys nab him. Again." The angel shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Can't believe you had him once and let the brat slip away."

"My Purifiers did not have him," Stryker argued, finally finding his voice.

"He speaks," the angel said disparagingly. "About time. Well make sure your precious Purifiers don't screw this one up. I have a feeling you'll only have one shot at it. And when you get Drake?" He paused, glaring until Stryker nodded.

"Kill him."

* * *

Jess sat cross legged in the floor with three teens: Bobby, Steven and Sarah. It was her understanding that Steven and Sarah were new to the institute while Bobby had been attending for a while. After arriving, Steven had stopped communicating with everyone except Bobby and Sarah, mainly Bobby.

"It is very good to meet all of you," Jess began, smiling to put the kids at ease. "I want to hear from each of you, whatever you feel like sharing. Would anyone like to go first?"

The teens exchanged dubious glances and no one volunteered.

"All right, why don't I go first?" she suggested. "My name is Jessica Moore. I am a college student although at the moment I am taking all online courses so I can stay here." She glanced at Bobby. "Libby's idea."

"Ah," he agreed with a nod as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I have recently been diagnosed with a genetic condition which can cause excessive blood clotting," Jess went on. "Not nearly as glamorous as creating ice or telekinesis, unfortunately. At first I was in denial, then I became quite angry about it. For several days I wanted to blame someone or something. Then I did the whole self-pity thing." Sarah nodded at her. "I think now I'm starting to come to grips with the fact there is a whole facet of my life, and my body, which is out of my control.

"Tell me, do any of you feel like that? Like your abilities are too much? Like being a mutant is being out of control?"

After a pause, Bobby spoke. "I did. At first." He cleared his throat, his eyes cutting to the side towards Steven. "Before I could control it, being able to create ice was a real pain in the ass. Everything I ate for the first month was frozen solid."

Sarah smiled and laughed, it even reached her eyes.

Steven looked up from the floor. "Really?" It was the first time he had spoken in the presence of an adult since arriving.

"Really," Bobby replied with a shrug. "Even being super cool can have its downside."

"Oooh," both Sarah and Steven groaned, heads dropping and shaking at the bad pun. Bobby laughed at them and Jess felt the tension which had lain over the room break.

Jess chuckled as she spoke. "All right. Now we've heard from the token adult and the cool dude. Who's next?" She looked expectantly from Sarah to Steven. The others were watching Steven.

"Uh, well..." Steven cleared his throat nervously, his voice barely above a whisper. "I see dead people."

Jess didn't know if the goosebumps down her arms were from her first success at convincing a closed off teen to open up, or what he was opening up about.

* * *

"He's being a moron," Dean groused as he held a stack of books for Libby. She was reshelving. "Don't you have people to do this for you?"

"They'd do it wrong," she replied simply, taking the top book from his stack to slide on to the shelf in the right place. "And it's faster if I do it, you know that. Now what is Sam being a moron about?"

"Everything," he groaned, rolling his eyes. "Such an emo pain in the ass."

"Emo?" she asked, giggling at him.

"Oh, knock it off," he sighed. "And yes, emo. It's like he thinks if he'd been, I don't know, tuning her body better, that she wouldn't be developing clots now."

"So she is developing clots?" Libby asked, taking two more books from him.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Weird thing is, now Jess is the one who's okay with it and Sam's not. I swear, if he worries about it any more, I'm going to have to knock his ass out to be able to sleep at night."

She gave him a startled look over her shoulder. "Even from all the way down the hall?" Libby demanded. "You can still tell he's worried?"

He glared at her. "Baby, if you were that worried, I'd be able to feel it from a mile away."

Gagging noises interrupted their conversation. He didn't even need to turn around. "Bobby? Aren't you supposed to be in therapy with Jess?"

"Just finished." The teen strode boldly up to them. "Thought you'd like to know that Steven even did a little talking. Not much, but he talked."

"Good," Dean replied with a nod of his head. "That kid worries me."

"Steven?" Bobby asked. "Why?"

Libby cleared her throat, indicating that they should follow. Obediently Dean carried her books into the next aisle, Bobby close behind them.

"The way he keeps his emotions bottled up all the time. When he lets go?" Dean shook his head. "We're talking volcano, dude." He stopped and Libby grabbed the next book she needed to put away. "I just don't want to see him hurt anyone, including himself."

"He's that, uh?" Bobby seemed to searching for a word.

"Repressed?" Libby offered. "Inhibited? Pent-up?" The book slid home. Another clearing of the throat and they were following her to the far side of the library.

"Even if he is," Bobby argued, "what makes you think he'd hurt anyone?"

"Oh, I'm not saying he'd do it on purpose," Dean replied, one eye on where Libby was going while he kept tabs on the people around them. "I'm saying that when a volcano blows, it doesn't care who is in the way."

"A lot of truth in that," Libby added with a frown as she stopped short. She began to rearrange a group of books on the shelf in front of her. "Some people," she muttered as she worked, "haven't they heard of the alphabet?"

Dean exchanged a suffering glance with Bobby. This was his life now. He was pretty much chained to a library no matter where he went because of Libby. Then again, he was typically in search of libraries wherever he went because of the job. The only difference now was helping to put things away and better nookie. Come to think of it, things were a whole lot better now.

Bobby shot a look of disbelief at Libby's back and Dean knew the kid still had not fully accepted the fact he and Libby were seriously dating. Dean shrugged. She was pretty much always like this when she was reshelving. She acted annoyed but the truth was she was overjoyed by the fact her library just could not survive without her. This was one part of her job that she truly enjoyed.

"Huh," Bobby muttered. "Okay, let's say he is that repressed around other people. He talks to me. Has since he arrived."

"But he isn't opening up," Dean argued. "His emotions have been on total lockdown for I don't know how long. Longer than he's been here. About the only emotion he lets loose is feeling afraid. He should feel angry, frustrated, heck I'd like to see a little annoyance from time to time. But there's nothing. He's a void."

Bobby frowned deeply, delaying following them around the corner to the far back wall. After a few moments he trotted up to them. "So you're saying he does feel scared but nothing else. And that's bad."

"That's bad," Dean agreed, glad Libby was taking the last book he had. "Lib? Mind if we go grab a snack?"

She glanced at her watch. "Oh, dear. It is that time, isn't it? Bobby, please make sure he eats."

Bobby chuckled at her. "Like that's a problem."

He and his teen friend left the library in relative silence. Once they hit the outdoors, Bobby shot him a hard look. "Really?" he demanded. "You're helping out in the library? Does she have blackmail pictures of you in drag or something?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He should have seen this coming. "Dude, I told you, I like her. I help her out when I can so we can spend time together." He cuffed the kid on the shoulder. "When you have a girlfriend you'll understand."

"Doubt it," Bobby grumbled.

"Did you want to talk about my love life or Steven?" Dean demanded as he headed them towards the kitchen.

"Steven," Bobby admitted. "Why is it bad to have control over your emotions?"

"Control isn't bad," Dean replied, "ignoring your emotions is. See, if he had control he would be experiencing other emotions. The fact is, Steven does not have control so he's ignoring them. My guess is he's that scared. He's not just scared of demons and ghosts and crap like that, he's scared of how much they scare him."

"That doesn't make sense," Bobby argued.

"Neither do people," Dean agreed. "But it's usually how emotions work. They aren't logical. My brother doesn't understand emotions either. He wants everything in neat logical boxes but people aren't built that way. I'll bet Steven doesn't even know why he still feels scared all the time."

"Do you?" Bobby asked, mounting the steps to the mansion in time with Dean's stride.

"Nope." Dean shrugged. "People are crazy, dude. Steven is the only one who can tell us what's going on with him."

"But he doesn't know," Bobby replied, confusion dancing across his features. "How can he tell us?"

"He has to start letting some of those emotions out," Dean told him. "He needs to figure out what is really scaring him. This campus is totally safe from supernatural creatures and he still acts like a ghost or the boogeyman is going to jump out at him."

"Boogeyman?" Bobby's head snapped to the side to glare at him. "There's a real boogeyman?"

"More than one," Dean replied with a nod, their footsteps echoing in the empty halls. "Hate 'em. About the only thing that works is electricity."

"You don't think being frozen in a solid block of ice would work?" Bobby demanded, holding up one hand with a cloudy ball of ice.

Dean grinned at him. "Maybe we'll have to give it a shot one of these days."

"Maybe," Bobby said, his face paling. Dean realized it was the first time Bobby had made any allusions to leaving campus since he ran away.

He casually tossed his arm over the teen's shoulders and pumped a little soothing energy to settle the boy's nerves. "Wonder what my snack will be today? Hank mentioned over breakfast that he thought I needed more protein."

"Steak?" Bobby asked hopefully. "Oh, don't look at me like that. One steak is a snack for you."

Dean shrugged and tugged the kid with him into the cafeteria. "Yeah, can't argue with that."

* * *

Missus Drake peered through the sheer curtain over the tall vertical window beside her front door. Her next door neighbor waved to her from the mailbox. Ever since her son ran away from school she had been reluctant to leave the house. Something in his utter conviction that demons were real and out to harm her had shaken her to the core. She had even started using a grocery delivery service. If only her husband could work from home. While he was at work she worried incessantly.

The neighbor woman called out and waved again. Missus Drake checked that her silver necklace, the one Bobby asked her never to take off, was securely fastened and visible. With a deep breath she opened her front door.

"Hello, Jenny," she called out to the neighbor who beamed at her approach. "What is it?"

"We haven't seen much of you lately," Jenny replied with a broad smile. "Some of us were worried that you'd been sick, especially after what happened to Joe Morgan."

"Joe?" She glanced down the street at the two story red brick house. "What happened to Joe?"

"Pancreatic cancer," Jenny whispered, shaking her head. "Don't expect him to be around much longer."

"Oh, I didn't know," Missus Drake gasped.

"What has been going on with you?" Jenny asked, reaching out to give her upper arm a quick squeeze. "I miss our morning coffee time."

Missus Drake hesitated before nodding at her front door. "So do I. Want to come in?"

Jenny beamed at her. "I'd love to."

She led them up the front path to open the door and hold it open. Jenny stood on the far side of the front door mat. Missus Drake looked from her neighbor to the mat and back.

"What is it?" she asked. "Are you coming in or not?"

"What is this?" Jenny asked. Her tone was pleasant enough but there was an undercurrent in her voice, a ripple of disgust Missus Drake could not understand.

"A gift from my son's school," she replied. "Go ahead and step on it, that's what it's for."

"Why don't you throw this trash away?" Jenny demanded. "I mean, things with weird symbols you don't understand shouldn't be lying around."

Weird symbols. Missus Drake looked down as her hand went to clutch the symbol hanging from her neck. She remembered the booklet her son had sent her from school.

"If you don't like it, step over it," she suggested. Demons could not step over the symbol, according to the booklet.

"What's that on your necklace?" Jenny asked, leaning forward to examine her necklace. Missus Drake noticed that Jenny did not lean over the doormat.

"It's a protection symbol from my son," she replied, showing it off. "Bobby is studying to be a priest." She paused. "Or a rabbi. I forgot to ask which one."

"Or maybe he's going to combine them," Jenny said sarcastically, sounding distinctly unlike herself.

With a hard swallow, certain she was about to be reamed out for behaving stupidly, Missus Drake said, "Christo."

Blackness slammed down over the whites of Jenny's eyes. Gasping, Missus Drake jumped back to slam the door in her neighbor's face.

"A stupid doormat won't keep me out!" Jenny screamed at the closed door. "If you want to see your son alive again, you'll let me in!"

Bobby. Missus Drake raced to the house phone, the only thought in her head of her son's safety. Oh, Bobby, darling Bobby, what have you done? Real demons? Adrenaline pumped fire through her veins as she snatched the phone from its cradle. Nearly blinded by her panic, she called the operator to place her call, willingly agreeing to pay the service fee.

"Xavier Institute," the ever professional and cheerful woman answered.

"Professor Xavier," Missus Drake panted into the phone. "This is Bobby Drake's mother and it's an emergency. Hurry!"

Impatiently, she craned her neck to try to peer out the narrow window beside her front door while the woman put her on hold. Was possessed-Jenny still out there? Missus Drake could have sworn she saw a shadow move out there.

"Missus Drake?" Professor Xavier's smooth tone did nothing to calm her. "Is there a problem?"

"Demons," she blurted. What was that? Did she hear a noise from the garage? Missus Drake spun on her heel to face the opposite direction. "At the front door. Is Bobby all right? The demon said if I didn't come with them I'd never see Bobby alive again."

"Bobby is quite well," Xavier told her, "I just saw him in the cafeteria with one of the instructors. How many demons are there?"

"I-I don't know," she stammered, heart pounding in her chest. Now that she knew her son was safe, all her panic focused on the here and now. "All I saw was Jenny, one of the neighbors. Her eyes turned black when I said christo."

"That would be a demon," Xavier agreed. She felt no comfort in being right.

There was that noise again from the garage. Gulping, Missus Drake crept into the kitchen. Surely there was something here she could use to defend herself. Against demons? Wasn't the necklace supposed to do that? She had some salt, no holy water, and a fire extinguisher. At least it was heavy enough for her to hit someone with. She heard the doorknob jangle on the door from the garage into the house.

"Where are you now, Missus Drake?"

"Sshh," she hissed, setting the phone aside on the kitchen counter as she crouched down. One hand full of salt and the other brandishing her fire extinguisher, she waited. Her nerves trembled throughout her body. They were coming.

* * *

Charles Xavier pressed a button on the underside of his desk. Scott Summers rushed into his office, bursting through the door, his gaze darting around the room seeking intruders. Xavier waved him closer.

"It's Bobby Drake's mother," he whispered, covering the mouthpiece with one hand. "I believe she is under attack, perhaps by demons."

Scott frowned. "That house is pretty well locked down. Even Hunter said so."

"Still, she said..." He paused when he heard a commotion through the phone. Charles waved the young man over to listen. They could hear Missus Drake scream, a number of loud thumping noises, and then a man's voice.

"Lady, what makes you think salt will hurt me?"

Then the sounds of a woman sobbing which grew softer and softer until Charles was certain she had been carried off. Dean would not be happy about this. He was already deciding on the best X Men team to send when he heard men speaking again.

"Really put up a fight, didn't she?"

"What was that crap about demons?" a second voice asked.

"Beats me," the first replied. "If she hates demons, you'd think she would want to meet the boss."

"Crazy broad."

Sounds of people moving around faded to the silence of an empty house.

"Oh, dear," Xavier breathed as he hung up the phone. "I suppose there is no use in alerting the local authorities."

"I'll go find Hunter," Scott offered, heading for the door.

"Hunter, Bobby, Kitty and Logan, please," Charles decided. "And see if Storm is available for the mission."

"Bobby and Kitty?" Scott asked from the doorway. "Already?"

"She is his mother, I doubt you would be able to stop him," Xavier reasoned. "I don't want a repeat of what happened last time."

"Kitty?" Scott questioned.

"She went on the last mission," Charles replied. "I doubt it would have succeeded without her talents. Plus she was the only person Bobby informed before he ran away. If she is with the team..."

"Understood," Scott replied, his frame stiffening as he accepted his orders. "What about Jean?"

Charles pondered the request. "I would feel better if Jean's talents are here protecting the school. She is far more reliable than any telecommunications if there is an attack."

"So are you, sir," Scott said carefully, studying him.

"But I am going with you."


	97. Chapter 97: Bobby's Mother

**Ch 97: Bobby's Mother**

Drowned in noise and battered by strong emotions he could not block, Dean dug his fingers into the sturdy armrests and prayed for the best. By humming one of his favorite tunes he hoped to ignore the sound of air scraping against the wings.

"It will improve momentarily," Xavier's calm voice assured him, so clear it had to be in his head. He couldn't unclench his jaw to snap off a "Yeah, right."

The taste of lemons and motor oil lingered in the back of his throat, the image of Sam's bitchface as he boarded the jet etched forever in his memory. Between the abject fear battering his right from Bobby, a double whammy of abducted mother and leaving the institute grounds, plus Logan's unease about flying, he had no hope of coping. At the moment it was all he could do not to jump up and wrench one of the doors open. But that would mean falling. To his death.

The screeching wind died out, so suddenly Dean's eyes flashed open certain the engines had cut out.

"Faster'n sound," Logan stated with a bump to his arm. "Should be quieter now until we're ready t'land."

"We have a plan." His voice quavered slightly but Dean hoped no one would notice. No one answered. He focused on Xavier. "You do have a plan?"

His bald head nodded and a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "We will follow the pattern of the last abduction. When Jessica Moore was taken a message was left at the site of the abduction which led us to her abductor. Our plan is to search young Bobby's home for a message."

Dean stared at the man in utter disbelief. "We found Jess because Stryker called and told us he had her. Do you honestly think he'll be that stupid again?"

"As you have pointed out more than once, humans are crazy," Xavier replied, still radiating totally calm and in control emotions.

"Won't be in public again," Logan warned, "not if it's Stryker. He might be off-his-rocker but he ain't stupid."

"Wh-what makes you think it's Stryker?" Bobby demanded, his anxiety ramping up. Dean had not thought it was possible for the kid's anxiety to rocket up any higher. It was going to be a looong mission. The spot between his shoulderblades buzzed with pent up energy he was dying to plaster all over Bobby's emotions and settle the poor kid down. Losing a mother was something he could relate to. Maybe just a little, he thought as he prepared to give his shoulders a small shake.

"Don't!" Xavier snapped at him. Damn telepath. One long finger pointed in his direction. "Don't you dare. We have no idea what we might be facing and you will be useless to us if you pass out in the X-Jet."

"X-Jet?" Dean glanced at Logan, his plans for Bobby momentarily forgotten. "Everything is named after him?"

"He bought it," Logan breathed, barely loud enough for Dean to hear.

Good point, he had to admit.

"Why Stryker?" Bobby demanded. Obviously as usual, Xavier had not told them the whole story.

His boss sighed and looked, and felt, compassionate and sad. "Bobby, I'm afraid I know it was not demons. Your mother called us to ask for help with a demon she had encountered, who could not come inside the house due to the protections, when men broke into the house and took her. The phone call was still active and I could hear the men talking. They sounded like they were referring to Reverend Stryker."

The emotional blast from Bobby was strong enough to make him gasp once for air. Ouch. There went his side where guilt liked to stab. Freaking great, he was going to be beat to hell before he set foot on solid earth again.

"Dean?" Bobby's hand landed on his forearm and the stab of guilt broke through to his lung causing tears to sting his eyes.

"Listen brat," Logan growled, "I done told you that you got to control yer emotions." Logan's arm reached across to swat at Bobby's hand. "Let go!"

Once physical contact was broken the stab turned back into a dull throb which, by comparison, was tolerable. Shifting one hand to cover the spot despite the fact it never helped, Dean turned to the boy.

"We'll find her, Bobby," he promised. "Besides, they don't want her, they want you. And as long as they don't have you they'll keep her alive. Right now she's fine. Keep telling yourself that."

"Why would they want Bobby?" Kitty asked, the first time she had spoken since their horrifying take-off.

"It would appear our Bobby Drake is immune to demons," Xavier explained in his typical classroom style. "Obviously that would make him a prime target. And with living family members who care about him? A vulnerable one as well."

Bobby heaved a great sigh as he leaned back in his seat, hands gripping the armrests on each side. Sadness overwhelmed the feelings of guilt which was at least tolerable. Though he might never have believed it, a few tears in his eyes were better than that guilt stab in his side.

"Me too," Dean said in a soft voice, his words meant for Bobby. "It's one of the reasons I made Sam stay behind."

"That was my decision, Dean," Xavier insisted. Whatever. At the end of the day Sam would blame him, not Xavier.

"It was tempting to include a healer for this mission but I did not believe it worth the risk. I will not give this demon another target."

A nod was all Dean could muster to show his gratitude. Xavier's insistence had been the turning point in his argument with Sam over who was and who was not going. Besides, Sam was seriously out of practice. If this was a hunt Sam would get his ass handed to him. Against people? No way.

Were they there yet?

–

* * *

When the noise picked back up Bobby figured they must be slowing down and that meant close to home. Chewing nervously at his lower lip he wondered what they would find in the house. Broken windows? Broken furniture?

Blood?

His stomach churned at the thought and an elbow plunged into his side.

"Knock it off," Dean muttered, "I'm still trying not to throw up." His favorite teacher's eyes darted from side to side. "Is that noise supposed to happen?"

"I think so," Bobby replied slowly. "You're scared of flying? Seriously?"

"Ain't natural," Logan snarled. "Only people with wings outta fly."

"I take it back," Kitty chimed in. "Professor Hunter and Logan make perfect sense as friends."

One of Professor Xavier's eyebrows rose and he stared at Kitty. "There was doubt?"

The jet shuddered from the landing gear lowering and Dean jumped in his seat. For a brief moment Bobby considered holding his teacher's hand. Then Kitty's hand slid into his, warm and strong, sure and confident.

"We'll find your mom."

They'd better.

When the jet touched down he thought Dean might jump right out of his skin, as it was only the seatbelt holding his teacher down. They shuddered to a quick stop, all of them jerking forward, the restrains digging into his shoulders until Bobby was positive he would go back with bruises criss-crossing his chest. Then they were thrown into the seat backs and a hand landed on his arm to squeeze hard enough to break bone.

"Sorry about that," Mister Summers announced as he walked from the cockpit a few minutes later. "There wasn't a lot of room to land." Instead of his sunglasses he had a strange black visor with the same color glass as the sunglasses. He wore a matte black outfit just like Logan's.

"Quit all right, Scott." Professor Xavier cleared his throat. "Hunter? I believe Bobby would appreciate his arm back."

"We're on the ground, kid," Logan added. "Turn 'em loose. You're alive."

Dean's eyes looked kind of bugged out as his head turned real slow to look at Bobby. "We're still alive?" His voice was weak and barely above a whisper.

"Still alive," Bobby assured him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or break down and cry after seeing Dean's reaction to a rough landing. If just a few bumps could shake up the guy he idolized this much, what would Dean be like when there was real danger? Real danger. Like that warehouse where he had been chained to the stove; where Dean, Logan and Mister Summers came to rescue him against incredible odds. And now those same three men were here to save his mom. There was no way they were going back without her.

After taking a deep breath the tension left Dean's face and he gave Bobby a nod. "Thanks. Let's go."

–

* * *

Scott did not miss the dirty looks from both Hunter and Logan. The rough landing was not his fault. Fine, so he was a little out of practice with those tight landings, granted, but he had a school to run. It was not like he could just take off and practice flying any time he wanted. Not like those two who could duck into the gym in the middle of the night for sparring matches to keep their fighting skills up. Flying a supersonic jet required a little more preparation. And a lot more practice, as much as he hated to admit it.

"We'll see about more flight time later, Scott," Xavier promised before rolling down the exit ramp.

Promises, promises, he thought to himself before realizing the Professor probably heard him. After using his remote to secure the X-Jet and lingering behind long enough to be certain that the ramp would retract, he rushed to catch up with the others. They had landed in a field near Bobby's neighborhood. Typically people would be out investigating the loud arrival of the X-Jet but he saw no one. Either the Professor had Jean and Cerebro create a telepathic shield to cover their arrival or something else was going on. Scott hoped it was Xavier's typical efficiency.

When their group reached the house Bobby stopped in the middle of the front yard to stare at the front door. Hunter, color returning to his pale face, paused to give the boy's shoulder a squeeze. Having heard the rumors about Bobby being Hunter's favorite student it was easy to see now the truth in it. They would have to have a talk later about professionalism in the classroom. Teachers were human, it was almost impossible not to have favorites, but showing it caused many problems with the other students.

Scott had not noticed before but now he saw Hunter wore his black team uniform as well, but had a plaid button-down on over it. Figured. Before any of them could approach the front door it banged open with a sharp crack and a man rushed out. It was Mister Drake and he ran for Bobby. Hunter stood aside as Bobby was lifted up into a rib-crushing embrace by his father, who Scott could now see had been crying recently. It was a good thing Logan was here for Hunter.

Wanting to say something but not knowing what he could say that would be reassuring without sounding patronizing or hollow platitudes, Scott scanned the street behind them for potential dangers.

"Mister Drake," the Professor said in his gentlest tone, the one he used with runaways who were scared out of their wits. "Do you have any news on your wife?"

Still clutching Bobby to him, Drake thrust a paper in Xavier's direction. Logan took it to hand over to the Professor.

"Hmmm. Scott, you should look at this. They are asking for a meeting." The Professor held up the page.

Pushing down the urge to run and looking anxious in front of his own team, Scott strode purposefully across the yard to take the page. Unfortunately he recognized the locale described in the letter.

"Not Bobby," Mister Drake huffed, both arms wound around his son. Scott wondered if the poor kid could breathe in there. "Bobby stays here with me. They're the same ones who took him last time, aren't they? They're trying to get him again." Distraught he turned a pleading gaze on Hunter, a silent plea to tell him he was wrong.

Instead Hunter leaned over Scott's shoulder to read the letter. A snort sounded when he reached the part about meeting at the bar. "Yeah, it looks that way."

"He stays," Mister Drake insisted again, dragging Bobby with him toward the house. "His mother would never forgive me if anything happened to him." Fresh tears streaked down his cheeks. "Never," he choked out.

No matter how upset the guy was he could not treat a kid that way. Bobby twisted and struggled to free himself but Mister Drake just hung on tighter. Scott had just made up his mind to free Bobby even if it meant blowing a few holes in the house when Hunter stepped between them.

"You're right," Hunter declared loudly. "Bobby should stay."

"But Dean!" Bobby protested, hanging half out of his father's protective embrace.

"No kid. I'm sorry, your father is right. They're after you and that means we can't just hand you over," he replied, both hands up waving Bobby toward the house. "I have a feeling your father needs you right now. Maybe you two can have a good talk." Bobby's eyes nearly popped out of his head and his struggles ceased. The boy's gaze was firmly fixed to Hunter as he mouthed "Really?"

"Really." Hunter shifted to talk to Bobby's father. "We need to borrow your car."

–

* * *

Torn between staying behind with Bobby or going on the real mission of saving Bobby's mom, Kitty weighed her options for about two seconds before jumping into the backseat of the car. Professor Hunter shrugged at the big picture window of the house where Bobby and Mister Drake stood watching them. Fortunately the window was too far away for her to clearly see Bobby's look of disgust or disappointment. Or jealousy. Yeah, Bobby was jealous. Definitely.

"Let's assume we find Bobby's mother there and we make it out of there with her in one piece," Mister Summers said from the front passenger seat. "Then what?"

"Whaddya mean, then what?" Logan demanded from where he squished her on the left.

"Yes, Scott," Professor Xavier asked from where he squished her on the right, "what do you mean?"

"He means," Professor Hunter grunted as he drove, "we can't protect her here. Not from humans. Not from these Purifier sons-of-bitches." They took the next corner hard, the front right wheel popping over the curb practically bouncing Logan into her lap. "Damn sedans," he muttered, wrestling the car back into the street.

"And you were complaining about my flying?" Mister Summers demanded, punctuating his questions by slamming a fist down on Hunter's headrest.

"It sucks," Hunter retorted, "just like this car."

"Oh, it's the car's fault?" Mister Summers asked with a snarl on his face.

"Knock it off." Logan reached forward to grab Professor Hunter's shoulder and give him a shake, but he did not let go. "Quit it, Dean. Just drive. And don't kill us before givin' the Purifiers a chance to, huh?"

"Scott." Professor Xavier sounded like he was reprimanding one of the kids for running in the hallways back at school. Mister Summers did not say anything and folded his arms over his chest to stare out at the road in front of them. "Hunter, it is not wise to alienate your team leader before the mission has started."

"He started it," Professor Hunter muttered like a kid.

"Dean," Logan snapped gruffly, giving his shoulder another shake.

"We're almost there," Mister Summers said, suspicion in his voice. "Hunter, is is that bad? Can you feel them already?"

The car slowed to a stop on the street in front of a run-down bar. "Yeah. It's that bad." He stared past Mister Summer's out the window at the bar. "You have no idea how much they hate us."

Mister Summers turned to look at Hunter and Kitty could not read the look on his face with that huge black visor covering the top half. "Remember who your team is. We're the ones with you, all right? I don't want to have to knock you out to take you back home."

"Make the ride easier," Professor Hunter mumbled.

"Not fer me," Logan growled, shaking Hunter again. "C'mon, kid. Let's rescue the lady and kick some Purifier ass."

–

* * *

Remembering who was on his side was almost impossible under the assault of pure hatred emanating from that skank bar. Already hot pinpricks danced across his skin causing it to itch. While Summers pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk and helped Xavier into it, Logan stood beside him with their shoulders touching. It helped. Thanks to his unintentional bond with Logan his friend acted like a grounding wire, sucking most of the raw hate out and safely away. Still his skin itched and Dean had to scratch the back of his neck. Was he a liability on this mission or did Xavier plan to let the Purifiers light his fuse and watch him go off? Between him and Logan, Dean figured the bar might not be standing when they left.

"Soon, kid," Logan murmured, that damn cigar rolling in the corner of his mouth. "First we rescue the Drake brat's mom. Remember that."

Dean nodded, hoping when they entered the bar he would be able to remember why they were there. Suddenly he found himself wishing Sam had been allowed to come. Sam was good in a fight and, even better, he almost never lost it when his little brother was around. Sam was the ultimate emotional ground. Libby was a good second but no way in hell was she leaving the grounds for a mission. Over his dead body.

"Certainly not," Professor Xavier agreed, rolling up beside him. "Gentlemen? And lady?" he added with a polite nod at Kitty. "Kitty, you stay with me. Whatever these Purifiers demand we will not give it to them and we will return with Mrs. Drake. Let's go."

Summers walked beside Xavier up to the door where he stood aside to hold it open. Dean and Logan followed close behind him.

Inside the bar smelled even worse than last time. It had the same stench of old beer and rotgut whiskey, but now that was combined with human sweat. Over a dozen Purifiers stood in a wide semi-circle around the entrance. Behind them at a table Mrs. Drake sat tied to a chair with her mouth taped shut. Her eyes were wide and frightened, constantly darting around the room. Dean wished he could feel some of her fear instead of the hate filling up the place, squeezing everything else out. The ants on his skin pulsed with electric charges as they darted down his arms and legs. This might be worse than last time.

Kitty had decided on remaining a shadow, where anything could pass through her, when she saw Bobby's mother. Fear was nothing new to Kitty. Before coming to the Institute it had been her daily companion. The expression on Mrs. Drake's face went beyond simple fear, it was frozen with sheer terror. That was the moment she knew Bobby could not have done this, could not have come here. The instant he saw his mother's face he either would have started crying or trying to freeze everything in sight, people and furniture alike. Or, more likely, both.

"Kitty," Professor Xavier mumbled out of the side of his mouth. Glancing down she saw his hand had passed right through hers in an attempt to give her a comforting pat. The only thing that could comfort her would be to leave right now with Bobby's mother.

'I am working toward that end,' his voice promised inside her head. With a shiver she nodded but she was having serious regrets about not staying at the house.

* * *

Millions of electric ant feet raced across his body, the tiny pricks carrying a larger and larger charge with each pass, his vision slowly turning red. Dean doubted that he would be able to think for himself soon, he was barely holding back as it was.

Then Logan leaned into his shoulder, the simple act clearing his vision and lessening the electric ants. "You'll know when," Logan muttered into his ear.

Watch Logan for the cue. He could do that. He hoped. The hard part would be waiting. Already his fists clenched and unclenched with the intent of breaking a few jaws. Conversation was impossible to follow though he heard Xavier's voice. Dean guessed they were discussing the terms of Mrs. Drake's release. Bastards did not realize they didn't exactly have a choice.

When Logan broke contact he lost his emotional ground. Dean tried to search for the familiar emotions, the classic Logan irritation, but he could not find it in this well of hate. The ants raced up and down his legs, their prickly feet shocking him with each step. It was worse on his back where they circled that spot between his shoulder blades, the pricks growing into hot knife points lacerating skin and muscle, attempting to drive deep enough to hit bone.

With gritted teeth he told himself to hang in there just a little longer, hold off, soon he would find release. The instant Logan moved, the split second he saw those claws flash, it would mean their leash was off. Then he could tear into these bastards and show them what real hate can do.

It required all of his willpower to wait, to hold it in on the promise that soon he would be allowed to go after these Purifiers. Despite all that something nagged at the back of his head, a wrongness in the room. Dean tried to focus, tried to think about what was wrong, but each time he shifted his focus the ants picked up their pace and the stabs in his back drove deeper. So he stopped trying. Whatever was wrong would show itself soon enough.

Just as the ants dug through his calf muscles to flay his flesh from the bone, light glinted in front of his eyes. Dean had to blink twice before he saw what it was. Three bright claws, the most beautiful sight he could imagine, sparkled in the low bar lighting right in front of his face. Combined with one of Logan's growls a euphoria crashed over him sweeping the ants from his skin.

The leash was off.

* * *

When the fight started Kitty cowered behind the Professor. She had spent enough time spying on the teachers in the gyms and the Danger Room to have seen fights. Lots of fights. But this was different. Those Purifiers wanted to kill. She could see it in their eyes.

The realization that they would kill her and not think twice about it, maybe feel relieved another mutant was dead, shook her to the core.

With a gasp she raced from the room and the fight, the death match between X-Men and Purifiers. No matter what happened or who won the fight, it was a loss. People would die. Kitty was beginning to understand what Bobby meant when he talked in their therapy sessions about wishing all the Purifiers would just drop dead. Before now she thought it was cruel and an overreaction to whatever they did to him.

Slipping through the front wall Kitty nearly ran headlong into the electrical control box and managed to dodge it at the last second. She arrived in the empty front parking lot breathing heavy. Bending over with her hands on her knees she panted, trying to catch her breath. Professor Xavier's voice echoed in her head ordering her to wait there for them to come for her, that she should be safe outside.

Closing her eyes did not help. Images of Logan and Professor Hunter laying into the Purifiers danced behind her eyelids. Logan fought like a wild animal let out of its cage, his eyes lit with some bizarre glee. And the grin on Professor Hunter's face?

With a shudder she forced her eyes open so she would not have to see it again and instead saw two pairs of shoes.

Directly in front of her, close enough to reach down and touch, were two pairs of shoes. One pair was black and polished to a high shine where she could see her reflection in them like a mirror. The other was a pair of old work boots, scuffed and worn with black smudges here and there. In her heart she hoped and prayed they were just two pairs of abandoned shoes she had not noticed when she stopped running. Somehow it could not be that easy.

Slowly she lifted her head and saw legs protruding from both sets of shoes. Attached to the legs were Reverend Stryker and another man, a man with pale yellow eyes, the man from her nightmares. Then again, she would rather be inside the bar.

Turning to run a hand grabbed her arm. Kitty willed herself into her shadow form and rightfully expected to pass through the hand. It did not happen. Confused, she glared at the hand on her arm and tried again. Still nothing.

A chuckle came from the man with the nasty eyes. "I told you it would work." He held up the box in his hands. "EM field. Like that electrical box you walked around in the wall."

He knew. They knew her weakness. Swallowing hard Kitty yanked and pulled against Stryker's hand. For her trouble he thrust a strange object against her side. Then hot electricity pierced her ribs and she screamed in pain and terror.

Black. The pain, Stryker, the parking lot, the man with the yellow eyes, it all faded to black.

* * *

The red film over Dean's vision shattered and he heard a scream. A girl's scream. Glancing around he saw broken furniture, broken and bleeding Purifiers, but no Kitty. He felt an echo of terror, or was that Mrs Drake? During the pause in the fighting the Purifiers who were still on their feet ran out the back.

"Quickly!" Xavier shouted. "Out front!"

Kitty, he thought, panic settling in. Dean was last out the door on Summer's heels. There was not even fading emotion from the girl which should contain enough terror to reach him if she were being carried away. But how? How did you catch a shadow?

Logan roared her name, waves of grief, self-crimination and fear pouring from him. As Logan ran toward the right they heard the squeal of tires and a black van raced from view with Logan charging down the street after it. If the van stopped for a light he would probably catch it too, Dean hoped.

"This is bad." Summers stood holding an open envelope with an unfolded page in his hand.

"What does it say, Scott?" Xavier demanded as he maneuvered the wheelchair closer.

"Special sermon Monday morning, seven am. Tune in." Summers sighed and gazed in the direction Logan had run. "How long do you think before he comes back?"

"We'll give him a couple of hours," Xavier replied. "He might catch up with them yet. In the meantime we should return Mrs. Drake to her home and collect young Bobby. I fear he won't take this well."

Dean gave the professor a strange look. "Who the hell would?" His shoulders itched, the remnants of the hate-ants from earlier making themselves known. Damn it.

* * *

Surprisingly it had been Dean who settled Logan down when he showed up at the Drake house in a fury. The ride back on the X-Jet was far calmer and deadlier than the ride out. Dean and Logan kept passing the note from Stryker back and forth, neither saying a word. Xavier tried to glean telepathically what they might be planning but all he could see in their thoughts was Kitty's face.

Oh, dear. Dean and Logan plotting together could not be tolerated. There was no telling what the two of them might decide to do. Charles would not put it past them to blow up the entire television ministry during the promised live broadcast in the morning.

Even young Bobby sat with a determined set to his face as he stared blankly ahead. They probably thought he would not notice when Dean nudged the boy's arm and passed over the note. After reading it Bobby gave them both a nod. Whatever they were planning the boy was in.

This was intolerable.

First Charles mentally contacted Jean Grey to inform her of the current situation and to request she visit with Cerebro to determine Kitty's location if possible. Also he wished for Doctor McCoy, Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, and The Librarian to meet them in the hangar upon arrival. Then he turned to the three silent plotters.

"Whatever you are thinking, I will not allow. Not without knowing the details," he declared, taking the time to look each of them in the eye.

"You mean you don't already know?" Dean demanded with a cold glare. Clearly the effects of the Purifiers' emotions had not worn off.

"I do not," he admitted. It would require a deeper scan to see what each of them were plotting and he would prefer they told him. There was supposed to be trust here. "Nor do I fully understand how it was possible for Kitty to be taken. By virtue of the nature of her mutant abilities we, myself included, assumed she could never be taken against her will. Clearly I was wrong."

"Join the club," Logan grunted, eyes hard and narrowed. Briefly Charles wondered if he shared some of the bitter hatred through his bond with Dean. As if Logan needed an excuse to be angry.

"We are going," Bobby demanded. "I know what those people can do. We can't just sit on our hands, we have to go!"

"Go where?" Charles asked gently. Since not one of them had said a word he could not imagine they were all thinking of taking the same action.

Dean snatched the page from Logan's hand to wave in Charles' face. "Where do you think? We're going to be there, damn it!"

"Easy kid," Logan muttered, yanking his arm down, "th' Professor don't mean nuthin' by it. He's just askin'."

"He said he wouldn't let us," Dean snapped, turning his ire on Logan.

"Nah, he said he needed to know what we was plannin'. Now th' Professor knows." Logan gave the others a confident nod before looking at Charles. "Right?"

What was the best way to word this? Considering Dean's current state even agreeing with him was almost guaranteed to cause an argument.

"I certainly hope you three don't think you'll be going alone," Charles replied with a frown. "I suspect the other instructors will insist on going as well. And with Bobby going the students may revolt if they can not go as well. I would prefer not to place the entire population of the Institute at risk."

"Why not?" Logan grunted with a frown. "They's already at risk. There's a demon gunnin' for all of 'em."

"And Purifier bastards waiting to take out whoever's left," Dean snapped while scratching his shoulder. "Besides, with a big enough crowd there's no way they'll spot all of us. At least some of us will make it inside for whatever those jerk-offs have planned."

Before he gave it serious consideration Jean Grey invaded his thoughts. Cerebro was unable to confirm Kitty's current location. They had no way of planning a preemptive strike before this so-called morning event.

"We were invited," Charles admitted with a sigh. "They must know we can not refuse. Surely they will try to at least weed out those of us they will recognize; you three, for example."

A positively evil grin spread across Dean's face and his eyes flickered with an inner confidence he had rarely glimpsed. "They'll try."


	98. Chapter 98: Sermonizing

**Chapter 98: Sermonizing**

Jess waited anxiously in what appeared to be an underground hangar with Sam and Libby. Doctor McCoy bounded in moments later. Before she could ask if he knew what happened the floor beneath her feet trembled. The tremble grew into shakes bad enough to be from an earthquake. A strong arm grabbed her and pulled her down.

Doctor McCoy and the woman Jean Grey, whom she had only met briefly and saw rarely passing in the halls, stood quietly without a trace of fear. At least Libby appeared nervous though she stood with the others. Jess noticed Libby trying to talk to the doctor but he shook his big furry head and waved at the huge black cavern on the far side of the hangar.

Stumbling to stand behind the others, buffeted by wind and noise, Jess barely managed to keep her feet under her. If it were not for Sam's arm helping to keep her balance she would have to crawl along on the floor.

With a high pitched scream and gale force winds a huge black jet swooped in from the cavern to land inside. The jet engines whined as they powered down as if they were crying about playtime being over. Then the hangar was steeped in perfect silence, an awkward absence of noise. Unwilling to be the first to break it, Jess grasped her boyfriend's hand and stood upright to face whatever horrible news awaited them inside the aircraft.

Jess had known about the mission to find and rescue Bobby's mother. Since she specifically had been requested to be here either something terrible had befallen Sam's brother and she needed to be here for him, or to Bobby's mother and as his group therapist she needed to be here for him. Either way she would be sleeping little tonight which Sam had already declared would be "unacceptable".

Tough.

A door in the side slide open and a long ramp descended from its dark depths to the floor. Professor Xavier wearing a grave expression came down the ramp first. Sam's hand clamped down on hers tight enough to endanger her circulation. Next was Scott Summers in an odd visor and black outfit. Behind him in a cluster were Bobby and Dean followed closely by Logan. Expecting one more Jess kept staring at the open door waiting for a lively girl to pop out.

Confused, she dropped her gaze to the men clustered just beyond those waiting. They formed a semi-circle around Professor Xavier, faces hard and grim.

"You forgot to tell me something, didn't you?" Jean Grey demanded as she led the way to Xavier. "What is it?"

Sullen and silent Bobby handed her an envelope.

"Kitty?" she asked in a whisper, looking at the men over the note inside. The only reply was a nod from Xavier. Without speaking she showed it to Doctor McCoy before handing the note to Libby. A strangled gasp escaped the librarian and when she passed it to Sam there were tears in her eyes.

Anxious to see what could cause this commotion she peered at the note now in Sam's capable hands. Special broadcast. Monday morning. Kitty was missing.

* * *

They had a day. One day to prepare. Bobby Drake was inconsolable and who could blame him? After what he had been through he could only imagine the worst for dear Kitty Pryde. When Bobby slept he dreamed of fire and now he dreamed of Kitty burning at the stake.

Of course Bobby was not the only student plagued with disturbing dreams of fire. Doctor McCoy had finally finished his analysis of all the students and instructors. With few exceptions over ninety percent of the school's population tested positive for sulphur in their blood. That meant for as long as this demon existed his mutant family could never be safe.

Charles Xavier sighed as he massaged his temples to ward off the massive tension headache he felt coming on. Already the entire student body was demanding permission to attend the so-called sermon. The instructors without obvious physical mutations had quietly, one by one, stated they were going. Clearly there was no room for reason or logic. By taking Kitty in this manner Stryker had personally declared war on this school.

Clearly the abduction was a ruse, a means to draw them out of their protected haven where they as mutants would be vulnerable. Even both Winchester brothers agreed with him on this point, and then both declared they were going as well. The respective girlfriends were also insisting upon attending.

Starting early this morning advertisements for the grandest and most important sermon of your life began airing. Every half hour it repeated with a lengthier version on the hour. And by noon tomorrow there might be no school, no safe place for mutants, and a greater anti-mutant movement than he had feared possible. Tomorrow might be the end of his dreams.

What was dear darling Kitty suffering at the hands of her abductors? Did she have any idea what would happen tomorrow because of her?

* * *

"...and this is my private chapel where I commune with God," Stryker explained, opening a door.

Kitty peered inside at the ornate decorations.

"Do not go in, only pure items are allowed inside," he chastised when she tried for a closer look at his crucifix.

"But that looks like bronze," Kitty argued. For a while she had considered going after the device he carried in his pocket, the one that created the EM field keeping her prisoner. However they were never alone. Always at least two of those Purifier thugs were with them and Kitty had the impression if she made the wrong move they would not think twice about shooting her dead. That would ruin whatever 'plans' Reverend Stryker had for tomorrow but she figured he would not mourn her death for long.

"The purest bronze," he bragged with a wild fanatical smile.

"Bronze is an alloy," she informed him, "they mix copper and tin to make it. The process is called smelting. Funny word, isn't it? I thought my teacher made it up at first-"

"Liar!" Stryker screamed, red creeping into his cheeks.

Suddenly Kitty did not care if he was angry with her. Whatever the plans were for tomorrow she had the impression that she would not live long after the sermon. Maybe it would be better to die tonight before she turned into some kind of twisted visual aide tomorrow.

"Demon liar!" he screamed, one finger pointing accusingly at her while his eyes turned wild.

Kitty calmly crossed her arms over her chest and every Urban Camo lesson she had ever learned came flowing back into her head.

"Yeah, that's me, the demon liar," she replied mockingly while her heart pounded in her chest. Just because it might be a good idea to die earlier rather than later, did not mean she wanted to die at all. Too bad she realized it after deciding on this course of action. "Just because I happen to know that silver and Holy Water are pure, not bronze. Right." While rolling her eyes she made the same snort Professor Hunter did whenever a student did something stupid in class.

If she acted like a typical teenager then he might start thinking of her like a typical teen rather than a 'mutant threat'. Besides, how big of a threat could she be? All she could do was walk through stuff. It wasn't like she could shoot lasers out of her eyes or had huge metal claws that popped out of her hands.

He glared at her for what felt like an eternity. While she watched the red flush drained from his cheeks and the wild look in his eyes faded.

"The tour is over. It is time for dinner." He spun on one heel, turning his back on her, before stalking off. When he raised a hand in the air and made a motion one of the Purifiers shoved her in the back to follow. She tried making herself insubstantial but she was still too close to that stupid machine. It was worse than a fuse box. Each time she tried to walk slow enough to make it outside the stupid field one of his thugs would push her forward.

Each year on her birthday Professor Xavier held a private dinner in the fancy dining hall. Usually it was just the Professor, her and Joe, who shared her birthday. They would have their favorite meals and desserts plus full two hours with Professor X - no interruptions.

The meal spread out before her looked twice as fancy, not nearly as tasty, and the company terrible. That man with the yellow eyes sat at one end of the table grinning at her. Reverend Stryker sat at the other end of the table and there was one empty seat between them. Too bad the table was not longer. The prod of something hard and cold in the center of her back, she guessed it was a gun, forced to sit in the empty spot.

They were served some gross looking green soup that Kitty would rather starve than taste.

"A finicky mutant?" the yellow-eyed man asked, his voice causing cold prickles to race over her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened and she felt nauseous. Good. Being sick would be better than eating with these two.

"You should eat," Stryker fussed at her. "Even you deserve a good last meal."

Last meal. Again her heart thundered in her chest and cold sweat broke out over her body.

Obnoxious teen, she thought, I must be an obnoxious teen.

"Then you should have served fried chicken, mashed potatoes and apple pie for dessert." Kitty lifted her chin in defiance. "This is totally lame," she insisted as she waved a hand over the nasty soup.

"My chef is the finest-" Stryker's rant was cut off by a deep chuckle from the man with yellow eyes. "Yes?"

"Can't you see what It's doing?" Yellow Eyes asked with another chuckle. "It wants you to be aggravated, as if It were a real human teenager. Doesn't It?" Those cold yellow eyes focused on her while he talked to Stryker. "If you start thinking of It like a human, that could make killing It more difficult."

Kitty found herself in a staring contest with Yellow Eyes, probably not her best move. At the moment she was too mad to care.

* * *

Shouldering his and Libby's way through the waiting crowd Dean managed to score them a waiting spot up near the front. Assuming security did not have his picture, which was almost impossible, they would have good seats. Of course he had no idea what he could do once the sermon started or what he might need to do. At least they would be there.

To his surprise Bobby Drake was ahead of him in the crowd, a few people up and to the right. Assuming they both made it back in one piece he would have to congratulate Bobby on moving through a crowd. It was an advanced skill.

When the doors opened to the massive crowd outside a deep voice blared from the exterior sound system.

"Please enter in an orderly manner. There is seating for fifteen hundred inside and an additional five hundred may stand along the terrace. Arguing or disobeying security guarantees removal from the premises."

There was more but the crowd swept them indoors too swiftly for him to hear the rest. From three entrances he hoped most of the X-Men would find their way to the inner seated area. A few like Summers could operate from the balcony area but most needed to be up close.

Butterflies buzzed in his stomach, energized by the crowd's excitement. Though Dean had been certain they would have to go through security protocols there were no metal detectors, no one checking faces against a "do not admit" list either printed or digital, nothing. Once the doors opened people rushed in, found their seats and waited with bated breath for the king of all bastards to fill their empty heads with half-truths and bigoted lies. How could they not be screening for mutants?

Oh, right, they were invited.

The thought did nothing to ease the queasiness in his stomach or the horrible scenarios churning through his head. Only a few of the teaching staff remained at the school, barely enough to hold down the fort. If the so-called reverend launched a full scale Purifier attack right now they would be toast.

Only Libby's calm emotions kept him settled and almost at ease. She chatted amiably with the woman sitting next to her, some kind of schoolteacher. She should not be here, Dean reminded himself for the thousandth time, but there had been no talking her out of it. The only way she would agree to remain behind had been if he stayed with her. He had managed to wrangle a promise of dropping to the floor and staying there until he came for her if the worst happened. He clutched the hand in his as if he might never hold it again and felt a hot pop between their palms, an explosion of static electricity. Libby paused in her conversation to give him an enquiring look. Dean shrugged, it was not on purpose.

"I feel edgy," he whispered in her ear.

For an answer she wrapped her other hand over his before returning her attention to the schoolteacher.

* * *

"Let's go, let's go! Move it, people!" Mister Moore's voice reverberated throughout the house, impossible to ignore.

Missus Moore carried in three glasses of orange juice to enjoy during the sermon. Their son Jeremy trudged down the stairs, one large sneaker slamming loudly on each step.

"Starting in two minutes!" he shouted, waving his family around the television. Ignoring his son's disgruntled glare was easy. He had had plenty of practice since the boy turned twelve.

Barely in time, his family was seated appropriately and Reverend Stryker's sermon began. It started the same way as any normal sermon, disappointing Mister Moore who had expected something spectacular after the Sunday sermon cancellation.

"What did he say?" Missus Moore asked with a frown. "Did the reverend claim there were mutants in the audience?"

The cameras panned the audience, a normal looking group of people, just like on Sundays. Mister Moore waved off her concerns. Then it happened. Just that fast. It was a statement that forever changed their lives.

"And many of you tell me, but Reverend Stryker, we've never seen a mutant. We don't believe they really exist. I have a surprise for you." He walked over to the side of the stage and waved some people forward. They were large men in solid black, their outfits reminiscent of the military except for the color, and they carried a long table covered with a lumpy white sheet. After setting the table on the stage they moved to stand protectively around the stage between Stryker and the people watching.

The lumpy sheet moved. Or more specifically, the lump _under_ the sheet moved.

"What was that?" his son asked, pointing at the screen. "Is this for real?"

Mister Moore waved off his son's question, it was absurd. The good Reverend Stryker would never...

Stryker yanked away the white sheet and allowed it to float to the floor. Beneath it was a young girl who reminded him of Jessica when she was little. The girl twisted and grunted, her wrists, ankles, arms, legs and waist secured to the table by thick leather straps. A hush fell over the television audience.

"Mutant!" Stryker cried, face flushed with victory.

"She's just a girl," Missus Moore whispered, hands covering her face. Her beautiful blue eyes, which each of his children had been fortunate to inherit, stared at the screen wide and horrified.

"Not just any mutant," Reverend Stryker continued, his gaze on his followers. "This one dared to invade my home. She can walk through walls."

"That would be useful," Jeremy muttered though an expression of disbelief was on his face.

"What else can they do?" the Reverend demanded as though his silent audience had asked. "What can't they do! They are from the depths of Hell itself, forged by hellfire and brimstone, an abomination to all real humans!"

Still a strained silence remained and Mister Moore sat on the edge of his seat. Why was that girl tied down? Even if she could walk through walls, which was preposterous, why was she secured that way? And if she could walk through walls logic dictated she would be able to float right through those straps.

The men in black surrounding the stage gave each other long looks before applauding the reverend. Their claps sounded dull in the large hall.

"Thank you, thank you," Stryker replied as if the crowd had given him a standing ovation.

"Is it me? Or has he gone insane?" his wife asked. "What does he think he's doing? If that child broke into his house she should be turned over to the police. Is he planning on a public flogging?" She tossed a throw pillow at Mister Moore. "I will complain! And I'm talking about calling the police!"

Nodding dully, unable to tear his eyes from the screen, he kept watching as he wife stood to race for the phone in the kitchen. What did Reverend Stryker think he was doing?

"Today..." The Reverend's voice called out to all his faithful followers. The audience stared, no one moving against him but no one applauding or throwing out the usual "amen" either. Mister Moore swallowed compulsively, hands gripping the leather armrests of his chair until his knuckles complained of the strain.

"Today you will learn the only way to deal with mutants. The only wave to save them."

The voice he had once thought of as being capable of touching his soul through the airwaves sent a chill through him.

"Please tell me he's going to exorcise the demon," Mister Moore muttered, his complaining knuckles forgotten as his fingers dug into the leather trying to leave permanent indentions.

From inside his white suit coat Reverend Stryker, revered televangelist extraordinaire, pulled out a large knife.

"I thought you were supposed to use a bible for exorcisms," Jeremy said, panic in the boy's voice. "Mom! Did you get the police?"

"I've been trying, the line is busy," Missus Moore replied as she walked up behind them. "Oh, dear God. Tell me that's not a..."

"That's a knife," Jeremy said in a hard tone. "Let's hope somebody got through."

"I'll try 9-1-1," she shouted as she raced back into the kitchen.

Mister Moore knew he should be the one calling, the one racing around desperately trying to save this girl, but he could not move. His arms and legs were frozen in place, his eyes stared at the television screen in shock. That girl. She looked so much like Jess at twelve.

The camera zoomed in on the girl who had given up her struggles. Tears poured from the corners of her eyes as she craned her neck to see where Reverend Stryker stood. Light glinted off the blade as he took a step closer to the girl and the sounds of a commotion came through the speakers. Perhaps the audience finally woke up and realized this was not simply a dramatic enactment, perhaps they were finally moving, doing something. Anything.

Then a boy stepped on to the stage between the girl and Reverend Stryker. He was average height, thin, and wore a ballcap and a black and white jacket which seemed familiar. The boy whipped off his hat to toss to the side as he glared at Stryker.

"Hey, that's Bobby," Jeremy cried, pointing at the boy's image. "Remember, Dad? The kid who attends the school Sam's brother works for? The one who came to dinner?"

Bobby stood in front of the girl using his body as a protective shield. The boy glared defiantly as his arms crossed over his chest and he planted his feet.

"Two mutants!" Reverend Stryker cried with glee. "The Lord saw fit to deliver more unto us!"

The off-screen sounds increased as did the number of people on the stage. Men, women and children joined Bobby, linking arms and forming a human wall to protect the girl. When a second row formed in front of the first he was able to pick out a few more familiar faces including his daughter and her boyfriend.

"Jess! Mom! Mom! Jess is there!" Jeremy whooped, jumping up and down while pointing at the screen. "Mom, come look!"

Missus Moore hurried from the kitchen with the receiver pressed tight against her ear. "The police are on their way," she whispered to them. Then she nodded at the screen. "I knew I liked those boys."

A more thorough look at the faces of the people protecting the girl revealed Sam's brother and the others from the private school. Mister Moore forced his hand to release the armrest in order to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. His heart pounded erratically in his chest and pain throbbed in his left shoulder.

"Dear?" he called to his wife as he pressed his hand against the building pain. "Don't hang up. I think I need an ambulance."


	99. Chapter 99: The Institute

**Ch 99: The Institute**

Leaving Stryker's broadcast studio proved to be more difficult than coming in. And then the delay gave Scott a brilliant idea. Shoving through the crowd he grabbed Dean and Logan to send in search of the control room, every studio had one. Dean had actually smiled at the idea. Another plus - it would keep those two busy while the police questioned eyewitnesses. The last people who needed to be questioned were Logan and Dean. While he was fairly certain Dean would never knowingly endanger the Institute, Scott had seen first hand how much contempt the man had for the police. Everyone was better off this way.

Convincing the police that he was technically Kitty's legal guardian proved to be more difficult even with the missing child report on file from yesterday.

"I am Scott Summers the school headmaster," he insisted, pointing out his name on the copy of the missing person's report. "I'm the one who reported that she was missing, probably kidnapped. Obviously I was right." Scott ground his teeth in his frustration. Maybe he sent Dean off too soon.

Kitty sat on the floor next to the table where Stryker had her spread out like a sacrificial lamb. A faded blue blanket was wrapped around her shoulders but she shivered anyway. Bobby sat next to her, his arms wrapped around her with Kitty's head resting against his.

"Mister Summers?" Bobby interrupted from his position near Scott's feet. "Mister Summers, she won't stop shaking."

The panic in the boy's voice sounded real but when Scott looked down Bobby's eyes were steady. However Kitty's shivering was definitely real.

"It's just shock, Bobby," he replied gently in case Bobby really was on the verge of panic and this was not just a practical application of urban camouflage. Scott dropped to the floor to gather Kitty in his lap, her head on his shoulder. It should be Logan doing this, Scott realized too late, she trusted Logan more than anyone. But Logan was on an important assignment that might save the entire Institute. So Scott cradled the frightened little girl in his lap and held her tight until the full body shakes died down to barely noticeable shivers.

He had momentarily forgotten about his issue with the police, reminded only when heavy black boots approached.

"You're Scott Summers of the Xavier Institute?" This cop seemed to have more authority than the others. Scott glanced down at the girl cowering in his lap wondering how he could stand when the man waved at him. "Don't get up. Just wanted to let you know that we've checked you out and whenever you think she's ready to go home, go ahead. Somebody will be by tomorrow to take her statement. I don't think she's up for it today."

"She won't have to be alone with him, will she?" he demanded.

"No. Whatever she's more comfortable with," the officer assured him. "I don't suppose you have a therapist on call? Because the department can loan-"

"Two on staff," Scott assured the man, mainly to head off a police department therapist coming to school grounds. Heaven only knew what that would lead to. The cop looked puzzled, like he might be trying to figure out what a pricey school needed with two therapists on staff. "Most of our scholarship students are run-aways or kids with serious problems."

Not a lie, certainly. Growing wings, tails, and the ability to walk through walls were serious issues, to name a few.

"By the way, I'm Lieutenant Craig." A hand reached down to shake Scott's while most of him was still cradling Kitty like an infant. At least her shivering seemed to have stopped. "I'll be the one to come visit with Miss Pryde tomorrow." He dropped to one knee to peer at her face. "If that's all right with you, miss?"

Kitty looked up at Scott. "Only if Bobby and Miss Jess can come." There was an uncharacteristic quaver to her voice that made Scott want to lock her away in a guarded tower room.

"Sure, Kitty," he assured her. "No problem." Gathering her tight in his arms, Scott stood with Lt. Craig's assistance.

"Mister Summers? Do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

Scott glanced around at the controlled chaos surrounding them and came to the realization that if this man did not walk them out they might be stopped for questioning several times.

"If we can walk and talk," he offered.

Lt. Craig nodded and led the way, the other officers parting in front of them the same way crowds tended to when Dean walked through. This was a different kind of power, the kind that came from real authority. They were nearing the exit which was nearly devoid of people before the officer asked his question.

"I was wondering about the sunglasses, Mister Summers," Lt. Craig said, holding the exit door open for them. "Why do you wear them indoors? If the question isn't too personal?"

"They're prescription," Bobby snapped from his side. Scott spun to see if the boy was honestly upset by the question. "He's the headmaster! Do you think he'd really-"

"Bobby," Scott interrupted, barely remembering to keep his tone gentle. "It's all right."

To the officer he replied, "Bobby is right, they're prescription. Without them I'm legally blind." It worked at the mall, why not here?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset anyone," Lt Craig said sounding a little sheepish as he glanced at Bobby. "And if you folks at the school need anything before tomorrow, trained guidance counselors or people to help contact the parents, please call the station and ask for me. We'll provide whatever assistance you need."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Scott replied. This was a historic occasion, it was the first time the local police department offered assistance rather than demanding answers to questions they could never answer.

All of the Institute people parked at the far end of the parking lot, their vehicles as close as possible. It looked like most of the others including Dean and Logan were waiting for him.

"Anyone else?" Scott asked as they approached.

"Ev'rbody's here," Logan replied. "Waitin' on you three. How ya doin' kid?"

Kitty giggled. "Bobby made the police offer counseling services for the whole school."

"Really?" Dean looked on the boy with pride.

"Not really, but I did make that idiot cop sorry he asked about Mister Summers' glasses," Bobby replied, a hard edge to his voice that was new.

"Is the other thing ready?" he asked Dean, cutting off the potential Urban Camo conversation building.

"Yep." The expression on Dean's face turned appropriately serious. "We set the timer to go off in about..." He checked his watch. "Twenty minutes."

"What timer?" Libby asked, trying to wedge her way into the conversation. "What are you up to?"

With a bright smile Dean turned the pretty librarian away and Scott felt relieved he would not have to explain a rather paranoid plan that he hoped not to need.

* * *

Heading to school. Bobby repeated the mantra over and over in his head as he willed his hands not to shake. It was a good thing he had not been able to eat breakfast this morning otherwise he would have puked it up all over Stryker.

Then again, maybe he should have eaten. That would have been pretty cool to see Stryker covered in oatmeal puke.

Beside him Kitty kept fading in and out as if she were afraid she had forgotten how. Bobby would prefer to be able to hold her hand, a physical assurance that she was all right. Instead he had to be satisfied with watching her shift from solid to translucent and back. He tried timing his mantra with her shifts but she was not keeping a regular rhythm.

A chill, the bad kind, raced over his skin. All the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened and the muscles in his shoulders contracted.

"Feel that?" Dean demanded from the front seat as the car slowed. They were only a couple of blocks from school. "Where are they?"

"They?" Kitty squeaked, fading out again.

Libby, who was in the back sitting on Kitty's far side, tried putting an arm around her. Libby's arm sailed right through and she sighed.

"They who, Dean?" The Librarian rubbed her hands down both arms. "Is that a cold front blowing in?"

"Worse," Logan grunted, peering through slitted eyes out the windows. "Demons. Guess Summers was right."

Dean turned in his seat to hang an arm over the back. The expression on his face made Bobby's stomach more queasy than when he had faced down Stryker.

"Lib, I need you to keep the kids in the car. We know they're targets." He glanced around before continuing. "They'll have the road to the Institute blocked. Logan will park before we hit the intersection where we turn, that's probably an ambush. When we leave the car I'm going to turn the radio volume all the way up. Promise me you'll stay in the car and leave the radio on."

"Dean?" The tone in her voice, pure fear laced with worry, reminded Bobby of his mom. He wondered how she was and if she saw him on television, what she would say when...if he saw her again. When Libby reached out to grab Dean's hand he could have sworn he saw a spark, a real electric spark burst from their clasped hands, but neither of them reacted so maybe he was seeing things. This would be the topic of therapy for months if Doctor McCoy or Miss Jess found out. That was assuming they made it through the next half hour alive.

He only noticed that they stopped because Dean started barking his usual orders about how to act if anyone looked at them funny before turning the radio all the way up. Then Dean and Logan left.

With the radio on max they could not even talk. Man he wished Kitty would stop fading out like that it wore on his last nerve. All he could really do was watch the two men he admired most walk away, maybe forever. He tried to concentrate on the radio but it was more of Stryker's crap sermonizing. Why would Dean want this on? To make them appear nonthreatening?

"This is stupid," he shouted into a rant about The Mutant Menace being responsible for low public school test scores. Bobby climbed over the seat and had his hand on the volume knob when Libby's hand grabbed his shoulder. Hard. Since when did librarians have a grip like that? But her eyes were fixed out the window not on him.

Knowing he would really, really, really not like what was out that window, Bobby followed her gaze. Dean and Logan had been stopped by two men in solid black, Purifiers. From the side and behind four more men approached, all of these in normal clothes. The chill in his skin deepened and the hairs on the back of his neck practically buzzed. The day he came face to face with a green-eyed demon his reaction had not been this severe. How many were here?

Automatically he reached for the door release but Libby still had him by the shoulder. She yanked him away from the door and from the back seat pulled him into a protective embrace. He was starting to see why Dean liked her, Libby could be a lot like his mom.

Some of the men in regular clothes turned to point their way. That was when the fight broke out. From his vantage point Bobby could only tell that Dean and Logan were going all out, not holding anything back. It was almost comforting despite not knowing who was winning. The men approaching made him sick at his stomach. Then he heard Dean's voice. But Dean was still fighting. How could he hear Dean's voice?

"It's the exorcism," Libby said directly into his ear, a note of excitement in her voice as her arms tightened around his shoulders. From the radio poured Dean's voice reciting the demon exorcism at full volume. Bobby wished he could turn it up louder. Clamping his lips closed he waited with the librarian hugging him from behind and a nearly invisible girl in the back seat as a demon walked closer.

The second the demon was in range it jerked, the human body no longer cooperating. Twice more it jerked before the head tilted back and nasty black smoke poured out. The man it had been wearing crumpled to the pavement with a moan that could be heard over Dean's voice blasting from the radio. A ways up the street Bobby noticed more black smoke. It looked like the rest of Xavier's people knew about the radio trick. With a grin Bobby motioned for the next one to come in range.

Instead of walking right into the trap that one took a step back. A black film slammed down over its eyes and it grinned as it lifted both hands. Fire danced along its palms, licking along its fingers as the flames spread into the air. Closer and closer the fire stretched until Bobby could feel the heat.

"Out!" Kitty screamed, the only one of them with any sense. Vaguely Bobby was aware of another hand on his shoulder and then he was falling through the seat, through the floor of the car to the ground below. In this odd shadow state the three of them scrambled to take cover behind the far side of the car.

Still the flames came, wriggling past chinks in the metal, slithering between metal and glass, and the scent of burning leather seats filled their noses. The air around them heated and took on a surreal shimmer as it grew harder to breathe.

"Dean is going to be very upset," Libby whispered.

"It's just a car," Kitty replied with a frown.

"That's what you think," Bobby muttered, "you didn't see how worried he was about his seats when I went solid ice."

"Ice!" Libby hissed, grasping him by both shoulders. "Bobby, you need to turn into ice again."

Like he hadn't tried about a million times back at the Institute. "I can't," he replied, crouching lower as flames ate away at the paint on the car roof. Soon this car would be too hot to hide behind which the demon was counting on. That and the speakers were cutting out. There would nothing to hold it back in about twenty seconds.

"You can," Libby argued. "Think about it. What happened last time? How did you turn?"

"It wasn't on purpose," he tried to explain. "I was...burned. And then they poured ice on me and..." Bobby shrugged.

"Ice!" Kitty cried before clamping her hand over her mouth like she just gave away their best secret.

"She's right," Libby said, kneeling and staring him in the eye. "Bobby. Cover yourself with ice. Then whatever you thought about when they had you in that freezer, try thinking that again. Go on."

He had not told her about the freezer. Bobby had not talked about that with anyone which meant Dean told her that part, maybe all of it.

Libby shifted away and waved at him with both hands to get on with it. With a reluctant sigh he turned to Kitty for support but she had this hopeful look on her face that was impossible to say "no" to. After what she just went through thanks to Stryker, Bobby doubted he would ever be able to tell her no again. Life was too short. Heck, they might not live through the next few minutes so why not go out with a bang?

Standing behind the big black car which burned at a faster and faster rate, Bobby hoped it was not too hot to make some ice. At first all of his ice melted into a puddle around his feet. Deciding to make the most of it he directed the next blast of ice at the puddle, hoping to freeze it solid and build from there. It felt like an eternity before refreshing coolness began to climb up his legs. Trying to forget about why Bobby focused only on ice, ice, and more ice.

"Go, Bobby!" Kitty shouted, his first indication of success. Solid ice was nearly up to his waist and it felt great. Grinning at the two ladies he went back to work which was so much fun it felt like play. Rarely was he allowed to make as much as ice he wanted. Once he let himself go the ice climbed quickly up his body. It worked so well as it froze around his arms the ice continued to climb up until his entire body was frozen solid.

God yes! This was so much better than that rinky-dink convenience store freezer. Reveling in the delicious cold Bobby willed it closer, for the ice to become a part of him. Beautiful, glorious ice was his best friend, his family, everything he could love and more.

"He really is solid ice." Libby's voice reached him as if she were standing down a long tunnel and yet she seemed to be close. He opened his eyes feeling bigger, stronger and more relaxed than he had since those stupid dreams started. Both Libby and Kitty stared at him, the older woman's mouth hanging slightly open. When he noticed her staring she smiled and it looked real.

"My God, Bobby. You're beautiful." Then her smile was shattered by pure fear. As he turned to see what behind him caused that reaction, the woman he used to think of as a timid librarian surged forward to throw herself between him and flying metal.

Right in front of him, before he had a chance to react, a flaming car door torn from its hinges slammed into Libby and pinned her to the ground. He stood staring at her fallen form, his mind refusing to accept the smoking heap at his feet. It was the dark chuckle from in front of the car that forced him to act.

With one hand he reached down to flip the twisted hunk of metal off her. She was still down, not moving, but Bobby did not see any large pools of blood. That part was good. He hoped. Then he turned to face the demon.

"Cute trick," it taunted. "Do you make cards appear out of thin air too?"

"Just ice." Bobby lifted both hands and let go. On a normal everyday basis he constantly held back, it was always a struggle not to freeze solid everything around him. Now, this moment, he did not have that worry. Ice flowed freely from his hands, a magnificent shower of solid crystal.

The demon fought back with fire, their respective loves meeting in a cloud of angry hissing steam. With careful steps Bobby moved forward until he could stand between Libby and the monster. Once she was safely behind him, Bobby called out to Kitty.

"Go find Professor Hunter! Tell him what happened!"

A flicker at the edge of his vision was his only reply. With that task delegated he could focus on ice and how much better it was than fire.


	100. Chapter 100: Librarian Down

**Chapter 100: Librarian Down**

When it happened it felt like an important connection in his world had been cut. It was like playing telephone using string and tin cans with each of his best friends at the end of every string. Then one string went limp and Dean could not tell who belonged at the other end of it.

Logan stood at his back, claws slashing mostly air because the demons were on to those. Dad was not back yet, he had been a secretive pain in the ass lately so Dean did not even know when to expect him. That only left a few people. Eyes scanning the fight which stretched over several city blocks, he managed to pick out Sam. Sam was not fighting, bit of a surprise there, but he was bent over to examine Storm's leg. The absence of rushing wind from her personal tornado made sense now. That only left...

"Logan, the car!" Dean shouted, laying a blow across the jaw of the bastard Purifier he had been fighting. The guy had skill, if not for being Logan's demonstration dummy in the advanced hand-to-hand combat classes Dean was certain he would have been vastly outclassed. He had been barely holding his own as it was. When the guy stumbled back a step he took his opening to turn and race for his car.

The flames were instantly visible and a solid lump formed in the pit of his stomach. Bobby? Kitty? Had he really been stupid enough to leave them unprotected? When would he learn?

"Professor Hunter!" Kitty was barely visible in the strong midday sunlight as she ran alongside him. "Hurry! Bobby needs help!"

Bobby. Bobby was down. Dean wished he had time to filter through his emotional ties so he could find the one leading to the kid, but it was easier to run faster and see for himself.

Kitty, a shadow of her real self, raced with him in her safest form. Not even demons could possess her when she was like this. "Logan is behind you," she called. He could not hear his friend's pounding feet over the noise of the full out Purifier-demon-mutant brawl. When the exorcism first hit the radio over a dozen demons had been taken out, their first and maybe only struck of luck. Still the chill remained in his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck were stiff, but it indicated a few demons around not an army.

White smoke billowed to form a huge cloud above his car which the source of fire. Somebody was going to pay for that Dean promised himself as he gritted his teeth. When he rounded the car he nearly ran headlong into a fire versus ice contest and stopped so quickly Logan ran smack into his back, sending them both stumbling forward. Kitty ran right through them and his flaming car. She waved over the smoking hood for them to come around to the far side.

Unwilling to pass on the demon's side, Dean led Logan around the trunk and marveled that the extra gasoline and stash of lighter fluid had not caught. Yet. They needed to be at least a block away when it did.

At first when he saw the lump on the ground wearing a mousy light blue dress with tiny white flowers Dean could not figure out what it was. Bobby stood protectively in front of the lump but there was no reading that ice sculpture face of his. The boy's emotions flared with anger and determination. No help.

"Kitty?" Logan asked, his tone too gentle. "Is she...?"

"Miss Libby is breathing but I can't wake her up," Kitty replied, her voice cracking at the end.

Libby? No. Not Libby. It was... It had to be... Maybe it just looked like...

Up. She needed to be up, off the ground. A classy lady like her should never be lying in the road like this. Moving on automatic because his brain refused to accept what his eyes saw, Dean kneeled beside her prone form to lift her gently into his arms. How many times had he carried her, sick and well? Would this be the last time?

With her weight settled securely against him, Dean headed directly for where he last saw Sam. Logan cleared the way for them, bright flashes of metal claws driving demons and Purifiers from their path. An eternity of claw snips and clicks and the slap of his boots on pavement passed before they found Sam. His brother was crouched between two buildings tending to the wounded in a make-shift triage area.

Good. At least that was one less person for Dean to worry about.

"Over here," Sam ordered, waving Banshee back out into the fight to make room for Libby. Dean lowered her to the ground feeling insanely guilty that he did not have at least a blanket to put under her. Placing both hands over her abdomen Sam closed his eyes and breathed deep. "Jesus," he whispered.

"What?" Dean demanded, it required all of his willpower not to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake out the answer.

Sam's eyes fluttered open like he was just waking up. "Dean, I got this. Honest. They need you out there, leave Libby with me."

"No, I want to know-"

"Dean." The voice was one he had rarely been able to refuse and it came from behind him. Slowly Dean turned to face his father towering behind him. "Come on son, let Sam do his job. It's time we did ours."

"Ours?" Still his brain refused to engage, refused to process the scene surrounding him.

Dad reached behind him under his jacket to pull out one of the oldest handguns he had laid eyes on in person. With a grin that chilled him to the bone Dad said, "We have a demon to kill."

* * *

Sam had worried that Logan would have to physically subdue and carry Dean off. Lucky Dad arrived in time. With a few well chosen words Dean was scampering off in their father's footsteps, the perfect soldier in Dad's war on the supernatural. The only difference this time being Sam wanted Dean to go. Logan headed out on their heels, Sam hoped to keep an eye on whatever his father was up to.

"What's wrong with her?" Jess whispered when he shifted to place his hands back on Libby.

"What isn't wrong?" Sam replied with a sigh, not caring who heard so long as it was not Dean. The last thing he needed was Mister Moody-Dean hovering while he worked. That stupid emotional bond worked a little too well some days, if Dean felt something strong enough Sam was starting to pick up on it. When Dean carried Libby to him Sam had nearly been bowled over by the strength of Dean's emotions. He had even noticed a tartness on the back of his tongue, no doubt some of those emotional flavors his brother had mentioned.

"What do you mean?" demanded a voice he had been trying not to hate. Sam turned his head to see a human popsicle walk into the alley. Now that was something you did not see everyday, not even at a school for mutants. "How is Miss Libby?"

It was "Miss" Libby now? Sam knew for a fact that Bobby Drake, and he could only assume this was indeed the same Drake who liked making ice-slides all over campus, disliked Libby more than he did. Or rather, disliked the idea of Libby dating Dean. That was a fairer description. Neither of them could honestly say they disliked Libby on a personal level.

"Bad." There was no reason to lie now. "Broken ribs, bruised organs, I'm pretty sure she's bleeding internally and I doubt that can be fixed without conventional surgery, and I can't tell about her head. I know she must have taken a nasty blow but I couldn't make it past all the fluids rushing to her brain to check for damage there."

"My God," Jess whispered, tears already forming. "Sam, you have to try. It's Libby!" Both her hands gripped Libby's and pressed it to the center of her chest.

"Does she need an ambulance or Doctor McCoy?" Drake asked, seemingly unshaken by his report, a true ice-man.

"McCoy and his operating room," Sam admitted. "The quicker the better."

Bobby Drake gave him a nod before turning to a blank spot in the wall. "You run ahead and warn Doctor McCoy. One way or another, we'll get her there."

Sam had to squint to make out the young girl's outline against the brick wall. Huh. Mutants could be invisible. Well, almost.

"I can go too!" A second voice chimed in.

Even past his solid ice face Sam could see the disgust on Bobby's face. "Joe? You idiot. Are you hiding out in here? Show yourself!"

A boy materialized near Sam, directly behind him. His heart thudded inside his chest as he realized that he had no idea the kid had been so close. It did explain why he kept bumping into things when he thought he had plenty of room.

"Kitty? Go," Drake ordered. He pointed at the boy would could turn invisible. "Joe, you're with me. We're going to steal a car."

Joe's eyes actually lit up and he grinned. "I'm in!"

"Follow me." Drake headed out of the alley. "Back in five."

"Or less!" Sam shouted at his back. His reply was a cool nod and Joe blinking out of sight.

* * *

"Drake would be better bait," Dad argued as Dean prepared to walk into the center of the fight.

Dean shot his father his best 'you'd better be kidding or I'll kick your ass' glare before backing away from Dad's hiding place. Then again, Dad had a good point.

Bobby scared the demon, the whole fire and ice thing. Maybe it should be Bobby Drake who drew out the demon, at least that was who he should look like. Dean paused to focus hard on the hot spot between his shoulder blades which had been buzzing with pent-up energy since he left the car. Concentrating on the energy bubble surrounding him Dean shook his shoulders to amp it up until it took on a shine. He hoped that would be enough, any more and he would have trouble walking a straight line. Too bad Logan had to run off to help somebody out, he could use a good blocker.

Now when Dean headed into the center of the fight the others from the Institute shot him glares, a few even tried to order him to safety. Having a little more understanding of tactics than most of the others Dean made for the most likely place for coordinating the demon attack. Their numbers had been severely diminished and he had noticed that their tactics had changed almost instantly. Dad was right about the yellow-eyed bastard being here. When he rounded the corner with the Institute in full view, an illusion of safety, Dean found the rest of the demons. He would bet his last dollar the dude in the back was the bastard they wanted.

"Bobby Drake," the dude in the back said, a wide grin spreading. "Well, well, well. Are we here to avenge our little mommy being taken? Or are we still upset about that whole unfortunate stove incident? I had nothing to do with that one, by the way. Not my idea." He chuckled. "But it was a good one, wasn't it?"

Dean stood his ground letting his bubble do all the work for him.

"What's wrong, Bobby? Cat got your tongue?"

It had taken a while to understand why he was one of the demons' favorite targets. It was only after the fight in the bar with that demon bitch that Dean finally pieced it together. The real reason he was a target was not because he was a Winchester or Sam's brother or because the demon killed his mom. The real reason was the same reason it targeted Bobby Drake: he was a direct threat to the demons. They could not fool him, wearing a human would never be a good enough disguise, but he could fool them. For Bobby even having blood infected with demonic sulphur could not drive out his natural inclination towards ice, which was apparently anti-demonic.

"Hey Icie? Helllloo?" Yellow flashed in the demon's eyes as his brows drew together, a distinctly human expression.

"Yeah?" Dean demanded, glaring at the bastard past those guarding him.

"I asked how your arms were? Any scars?" The tone was only half taunting and half suspicious. It meant the demon bastard was starting to catch on. When he spotted movement behind the demons Dean forced his thoughts to focus on losing his mother, Stryker trying to kill Kitty, and how ballistic Logan was going to be that he had was missing out on this.

"Logan?" Yellow Eyes' head tilted to one side as he frowned. "You know, I don't think you're Bobby at all. And if you're not..." The demon lifted one hand and an invisible wall slammed into him, knocking him off his feet to smash into the pavement. Unseen bands constricted around his chest trying to squeeze out all the air.

"Then you must be ol' Dean-o, the lying mutant." He raised one hand into the air and waited, though Dean could not imagine why. "Just wanted to be sure you saw this, that's all." With a short laugh his hand closed and the pressure around Dean's ribs increased ten-fold. Dean imagined his ribs would burst through the demon bands. Warm wet too thick to be tears oozed from his eyes, sliding along his skin. All thought except of air fled from his head.

A crack sounded only a few feet away followed by a brilliant flash of lightning and the vice squeezing the life out of him bit by bit stopped. Faster than it started it was just gone. Gasping air into his lungs he rolled on to his aching side, not surprised when fresh pain from cracked ribs lanced through him. It meant he was alive. Rotating his eyes toward where the demon had been standing he saw his Dad holding the old gun with a thin tendril of smoke rising from it. On the ground near his feet was the body Yellow Eyes had been wearing.

Pushing past the pain Dean sat up for a better look. A hole the size of a watermelon had been burned through the dead guy's middle. The other demons turned to stare in utter disbelief at the body, Dean could feel their horror and shock.

"The Colt!" one shouted. Then he opened his mouth to belch black smoke, the body deflating like a balloon as the demon ran for the hills. Before Dad could cock the gun the sky filled with demon smoke and the host human bodies dropped like flies.

"Poor bastards," Dad muttered, rocking one of the bodies with the toe of his boot. "I think this one has been dead for a while." He waved a hand in front of his nose. "He smells like it. Come on, son. Let's have the blue doc check you out."

This time it was tears leaking from his eyes as Dad pulled him to his feet. Dean knew better than to say it hurt, which was an understatement, because Dad would ignore it. With Dad it never mattered how much it hurt now, only that you took care of it and there was no infection.

"Chest?" Dad asked, leaning over as if the man could look through his jacket. All Dean could do was gasp.

"Sounds like it's your chest. Come on, it's not a long walk from here." Each step was a new experience in agony. Dean tried thinking about his run-in with a wendigo, how bad his chest hurt that time. Somehow he could not conjure up anything that hurt worse than this.

Through the pain came another sensation, it was pain but it was different. This torture welled up from from some deep dark place and snaked out to each limb, every finger and toe, each eyelash throbbed with its own misery. Not his pain. It took five more steps for the realization to take hold: it was not his pain.

Eyes shifting to take in the mansion looming before them Dean had the distinct impression that the pain came from the tunnel system under it.

"Call Hank," he breathed, "needs more anesthesia." Dad shot him an odd glance but at least the man had the decency to pull out his cell. Dean wondered if it had a charge. Hell, considering how little Dad had it on the phone should always have plenty of battery power.

"For you?" Dad asked, pressing a single button. Dean did not even bother to wonder about his father figuring out speed dialing much less having Hank programmed as one of the numbers. Dad had been kind of strange since he went full mutant.

Dean shook his head and immediately regretted it. "Whoever he's operating on."

One of Dad's eyebrows lifted. "Hank? ... I don't care, put me on speaker, I need to talk to him. ... Yeah it's Winchester, who the hell else? ... Hank, you there?" Dad's face lifted as if he could see through the mansion in front of them into Hank's lab. "Yeah, I'm here with Dean. Listen, he says you're not using enough anesthesia. ... Positive. So who is it?" Dad's face tightened and he swallowed hard twice. "Yeah, I understand. Dean isn't in great shape either. Where should I... Uh-huh. ... No problem. See you in a few."

Dean concentrated and he could pick up on a strangled feeling of helplessness. As good as Dad had become at concealing and controlling his emotions for this to escape it must be extreme. He would like to ask, Dad had been pretty honest lately, but there was not enough air in his chest for talking.

The tortured pain turned dull and breathing became easier. Relieved, Dean increased his pace to almost a normal walk. When he saw Libby he would have to remember... remember...

"Dean?"

Eyes wide open but not seeing what was in front of him, for a split second he imagined seeing through Libby's eyes and he knew, in his heart he knew, that tortured pain was hers. Unmoving lump by the car. Unconscious. Dead weight. Sam hiding his emotions just like Dad.

His feet started running without consent, without giving his body time to prepare. Lungs burned for air and ribs protested mightily against the fresh abuse.

"Dean!" Pure irritation coupled with worry, an emotion Dad had invented, flared bright and hot. Ignoring the rough emotions he raced on with the kind of determination that had sent every ghost he ever faced to its end.

Seeing the front doors to the mansion standing wide open went beyond disturbing but it fit today. Dean barreled through to head for the elevator down to the tunnels. There were a couple of students standing guard inside the main corridor and they gave him shocked looks when he ran by. Dad caught up at the elevator panting.

"Y-you should wash up," Dad stammered, hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Wash up? Dean glared at his father for the stupid suggestion.

"All...bloody," he panted, lifting a hand to wave in front of his face. "Think you scared those kids." A grin appeared on Dad's unshaven face. "One of them was that girl with the stupid question about sterile water. Wish I had a picture of that."

The elevator door slid aside for Dean to take it down. Dad rushed in beside him. Inside the walls were metal polished to a reflective shine. His face glared back at him, hard, stern, bruised, cut and bloody. Dark streaks of blood connected the corners of his eyes to his ear canals which were crusting over with dried blood inside.

"Okay, I look like hell." Dean glared at his father's ragged reflection. "So what?"

"Do you want her to see you like that?" Dad's voice was gentle, understanding, and scarier than the demon with yellow eyes. "Wash up first son."

When he checked his reflection again the clear wet streaks through the grime were no surprise. Dean nodded at his father's reflection.

* * *

"He should let me work more on his ribs," Sam argued in a hushed tone as they watched through the observation window.

Dean sat beside Libby's bed, one hand holding hers, their fingers entwined. His son stared at the girl like everything in his world had just been shattered beyond repair. The problem was he might be right.

"You know he won't, Sam," John replied. Again. "Dean doesn't want to tire you out in case Libby needs you."

Sam groaned and tossed his head back. "It's too much for me, Dad. I told you. The only thing Hank will let me do is kind of scan her, let him know how well the treatments are working."

"I know." John crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, memories of the night he lost his wife so vivid he feared falling asleep tonight. He knew her burning body and angelic face forever frozen in horror waited in his nightmares. Tonight he planned to live off Xavier's gourmet coffee and wrangle Logan and maybe that blue demon looking guy whose name he could never remember into playing cards.

"It's too bad your trick won't work with her."

Sam's head turned to stare at him for a long moment. "What trick, Dad?"

"You know, when you and Dean work on each other. That energy swapping trick. I guess it works best because Dean's energy levels are so high and..." A strange light flashed in Sam's eyes that make him nervous. "Sam? What are you-"

"Thanks, Dad!" Sam leaped to his feet. He was out the door into the hall as his shout echoed, "You're a genius!"

Sometimes. Why was he a genius now? Because he said their energy swapping trick wouldn't work? That made no sense. His muddled brain struggled to catch up as he watched Sam burst into what they used for intensive care around here. A short but animated conversation took place between his sons and he never hit the button to listen in. He must be slipping.

Dean did not move from his chair or release his girlfriend's hand. He held out his free hand to Sam who gripped it in one of his. Sam's other hand lowered until it rested in the center of Libby's chest. What did they think they were...

Swapping energy. Sam could not heal Libby because the injuries were too severe, he would do as much damage to himself because of the amount of physical energy that kind of healing required. That was the kind of energy Dean produced naturally. Sam was going to use his brother as a battery.

Jesus! John was on his feet and racing down the hall as the word battery echoed inside his head. Those two idiots were going to kill themselves.


	101. Chapter 101: Reasonable

"It's a good idea," Sam protested. He stood alone before a mutant board trying to defend his actions. Being stared down by Professor Xavier, Headmaster Scott Summers, Doctor McCoy plus the only non-mutant, Dad, went beyond unnerving. But they did not do anything wrong, he and Dean were in the right. And who was standing here facing judgement? Just him. Alone.

"Which you decided to try Without clearing it first with her doctor?" McCoy demanded. "That would be me, in case you were wondering. The person who graduated from medical school."

Another dig at him to change his major, like this was not difficult enough.

"But if I can use Dean's energy I can do more than just scan her," Sam argued. "I could help. Just a couple of nudges in the right place and she might start recovering."

"What nudges?" Xavier asked.

"What do you mean, might start recovering?" Scott Summers asked. It was the first time he had seen Summers talk over Professor Xavier.

Unsure who he should pay more attention to Sam decided to play it safe and come up with a way to answer both questions.

"With Dean helping, I would have enough energy to give her body an extra push where she won't be just hanging on, she'll start to recover."

"Libby is just hanging on?" Summers peered through his funky glasses at the others sitting around the table. "Libby is just hanging on and nobody said anything?" One hand slammed down on the table sending a shudder through the wood. "No wonder Hunter won't leave her side."

He spun to address McCoy. "What about with you monitoring them? During this extra push? Wouldn't that ensure neither expends a dangerous level of energy? From what I know of Sam he will do exactly what he says he will, so there should not be a concern of him trying too much. I vote we let them give it a try under McCoy's supervision."

"Scott, there are other considerations," Xavier replied with a frown.

"Really?" Summers stared at his boss. "Other considerations? Something else you haven't mentioned?"

"Hunter has a strong empathic bond with The Librarian," Doctor McCoy interrupted what might turn into an emotional rant from Mister Stiff. Sam could not help staring. "Considering the strength of his bond with his brother it is possible that he could unintentionally influence Sam to do too much and drain energy from both of them to a dangerous level."

"She's that bad?" Summers demanded.

McCoy sighed deeply. "Unfortunately Sam's assessment of The Librarian's condition is accurate."

"We have Logan on hand," Summers insisted. "He'll be able to interrupt if they go too far. I still say do it."

"Perhaps," Xavier interjected, "with enough safeguards in place, we should allow it." His penetrating gaze snapped to Dad.

"Wish they'd come up with it earlier," Dad grunted. Yeah, right. Like he wasn't the one to stop them the first time. Dad nodded.

"Very well." Doctor McCoy stood. "Once the equipment has been calibrated and both Hunter and Sam have eaten a good meal and appear well rested, we shall see what happens. But I must warn all of you, if there is no change in her condition I will be against risking two lives in the attempt to save one. Should this fail there will be very little any of you will be able to say to sway me." With a hard look to declare that all of them had invaded his territory, Doctor McCoy left the room.

"That could have gone better," Xavier said to no one in particular.

The snort from Dad sounded exactly like Dean. "That's what you think. But if it works..." His fingers tapped against the table. "I really hope this works." A deep frown creased his face. "Has anyone called her parents?"

* * *

Dean sat in Hank's office staring at the desk phone. Libby's parents. He forgot about calling the Darlings. How the hell could he forget something so important? The Colonel really would shoot him this time.

It felt strange to be outside the clinic. Since finding her in the room reserved for McCoy's intensive care, which was far superior to any normal hospital ICU, Dean had not been able to pry himself from her side. He had been taking his meals, grading papers from his demons class which Dad was running, and writing lesson plans while sitting beside her. The only time he left, briefly, was to use the restroom. This felt like abandoning her. Dad and Logan had both stayed behind with promises to call him the second anything happened, even if her breathing changed.

Taking a deep breath he lifted the corded phone receiver to his ear. Holding his cell phone in his left, Dean read her parents' number while punching in the buttons with his right hand. Before pressing the last number he forced himself to breathe deep. Despite all of Sam's attempts to mend his ribs they still twinged when he breathed deep.

A ringing sounded in his ear and Dean was not sure if he wanted a live voice or voicemail. Regardless of what or who answered this call would be hard. It picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" The Colonel. Might was well start the shooting now.

"Colonel, it's Dean, Libby's...uh...boyfriend."

"I really hope you're calling about coming out to shoot," the Colonel stated, his tone turning friendly. That would change in a few seconds. "I'm nearly done with my new shooting range. When it's finished I'll have moving targets."

"No." A deep sigh escaped and he shut his eyes to imagine her father standing in front of him. The older man's eyes were sad and his face drawn. "It's about your daughter."

"We watched a replay of Stryker's last broadcast," the Colonel replied, his voice hardening. "Mother was certain she spotted the two of you on stage. That did end with the police hauling him off, didn't it?"

He could hear the worry creeping in, the voice of a father not a retired full-bird colonel.

"He has this group of mercenaries called Purifiers." The image of Libby unconscious on the pavement flashed behind his eyes and Dean needed to pause. "The girl Stryker wanted to sacrifice and the boy who stood between them? We were taking them back to the Institute."

"Were you followed? Or was it an ambush?"

"Ambush." Dean tried to shake the image of her broken form from his mind. "Logan and I left her with the kids in the car while we scouted ahead for the ambush. We thought they were far enough back."

"Those kids were the targets," Colonel Darling stated, resignation in his tone. "What happened? No, don't tell me that part, just tell me how bad my daughter was hurt."

"Bad." His voice trembled and Dean needed to pause before continuing. "She...uh...she won't wake up."

"Son, that was two days ago. What have you been doing for the last two days?" Expecting to hear accusations, the gentle tone caught him off-guard.

"Waiting for her to wake up." That should have been obvious.

"Where, Dean? Where have you been waiting?"

"In a chair. Beside her bed." Duh. "Colonel, we had an idea about something that could really help her but it's kind of unconventional."

"You can tell me all about it after we arrive."

"Sir?" Had he heard that right?

"I said we're heading your way. There are still a few strings I can pull. Mother and I will be arriving in about two hours. Have someone from the Institute who is current on my daughter's condition pick us up from the airport, that can be you or whomever you choose. If that person is not you be certain he is holding a placard with my name on it so I will be able to identify him. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Dean felt his spine straighten and his shoulders stiffen. A low dull pain spread from his ribcage. Knowing Sam it would be gone the first time he fell asleep all night.

"Then we will see you in a few hours. Hold down the fort until we arrive."

"Yes, sir. See you then." An enormous weight lifted from his shoulders. The cavalry would soon arrive.

* * *

Sam watched Jess' face go ashen white as she listened to whoever was on the phone. Still feeling aggravated over the whole meeting to decide a woman's fate, Sam did not pay much attention. He would deal with Jess in a minute, after he calmed down.

Calming down was far more difficult lately with Dean hovering around Libby all the time. He probably needed his emotions reset and big brother was neglecting that duty. And he was not supposed to feel upset about that around Dean because Dean was dealing with enough as it was.

Sam really hated when Dad's voice went off in his head this way.

"Is he all right?" Jess asked, a catch in her voice. "Was there any damage to his heart?"

His personal issues forgotten, Sam's attention snapped to his girlfriend. Who? Heart? Damage? Somebody had a heart attack.

"You're sure?" Jess demanded. "Because we can drive out there."

Tensely he waited to see what she would say. Sam did not want her off-campus without him and there was no way he could leave with Libby's life hanging by a thread. He could never admit it to anyone (especially Dean), but seeing Libby in a state where he could not help was painful to him, even from across the room Sam knew what hurt the worst and where the most damage was.

"Yes, we were there. And yes, I suppose the kids here need a therapist but..." Her voice trailed off as she listened to whoever was on the phone.

"Okay," Jess sighed, nodding her head at the far wall. "Give my love to Daddy and tell him I expect a full recovery. And for him to start eating healthier. ... Love you too, Mom."

Jess was in tears when she set her cell aside. For a long time she cried into his shoulder. As he held her Sam noticed that her hormone levels were rather high. He asked them to tone it down because she was too moody. Oddly they refused, claiming that they needed to keep going up, up, up. Strange.

"Your dad?" Sam asked when her sobs died down. "Heart attack?" She nodded into his chest and he was relieved when the unrestrained sobs did not return.

"Maybe I can sneak out there to check him out?" he offered, knowing full well he could be called on any second to help with Libby.

Jess shook her head, a hiccup interrupting when she tried to speak. "Mom says he's - hic - fine. The - hic - doctors claim he'll - hic - make a full recovery." She sniffled. "She also - hic - said Daddy wants - hic - to be sure those - hic - poor kids Stryker threatened are - hic - okay." She took a deep breath and the hiccups died down. "And he wants me to stay so they won't lose their therapist." Fresh tears washed down her cheeks. "Sam, Stryker nearly killed my dad. He had the heart attack when he saw..."

Her throat pulsed as she swallowed hard.

He held her close, rocking her from side to side. "I told Dean your dad was a good guy. Now he'll have to believe me."

A strangled laugh, out of place and hoarse after all her crying, escaped. She clung tight.

Guiltily Sam sent up a selfish 'thanks' into the heavens for sparing Jess from being hurt in the ambush. Now all he had to do was figure out why her body thought it needed all those hormones. Until that happened and Libby was either out of the woods or...not...he would not be able to justify leaving campus. Not even for her dad. His mind began to churn with reasons to keep them both here regardless of what happened to her parents.

* * *

John Winchester wished he could be meeting Libby's parents under better circumstances. Like a wedding. This was... Hell, there were no words for what this was.

Standing beside his truck in the passenger pick-up area he held up a large white paper with bold printed letters proclaiming 'Colonel Darling'. He had been here for a half hour and airport security had tried running him off several times. Next time they would call the cops. With his record he really did not need a run-in with the local police.

A man with distinct military bearing that caused his spine to automatically straighten waved in his direction. John waved back feeling the usual stiff uncertainty which went with meeting a superior officer. It was absurd, of course, he had not been in the military since before he was married.

"Colonel Darling," the man introduced himself. "And this is my wife, Missus Darling."

"Pleasure, ma'am," John greeted as he shook her hand. After tossing their suitcase in the back, the Darlings must believe in traveling light, John opened the passenger door of his truck. "I'm John Winchester."

Without missing a beat the Colonel helped his wife in first, she was to sit in the middle, before climbing in himself. John tried not to appear that he was hurrying as he walked back around to the driver's side. As he reached for the door handle one aspect of this meeting shocked him with its clarity. If his sons' strange plan actually worked, and he honestly thought it had a real chance, then these people could become Dean's in-laws. Some day. They would be family.

He had never really known his in-laws, just stories from Mary. Those were not told often. John had never been able to decide if their deaths were so horrible they tainted her memory of her parents or if she had been an abused child. Or both. Honestly he leaned toward the latter.

With a clearer picture in mind John opened his door to climb in behind the wheel.

"John, what's the current situation regarding our daughter?" Colonel Darling asked the instant he put the truck into gear.

"The same," John replied. "No improvement."

"But she isn't worse?" Missus Darling asked in a low voice. John suspected there would be tears before they arrived. Better now than around Dean, he decided.

"No, she isn't worse," John assured her although it was not much. Were he in their shoes he would be finding a demon to strike up a deal. It was a bit of a shock that Dean had not brought it up yet. The hours John spent staring at the ceiling the last couple of nights had been spent coming up with reasons to talk his son out of it. He had a pretty good list.

Did that make him a hypocrite? Yes. It must. So be it.

Colonel Darling cleared his throat a couple of times. "Any idea how...what happened?"

John nodded at the road ahead. "I talked to one of the kids who saw the whole thing." He glanced over at the strained faces of Libby's parents. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"No." Missus Darling's voice quavered and a few tears trickled down her cheeks but to her credit she did not cry. "But we need to."

His estimation of them kept going up. The fact Dean liked them had been the best recommendation he could have. Meeting their well grounded daughter had bumped them up a notch above that. Now to see how they handled what was for a parent a nearly impossible situation, it was impressive.

"And don't sugar coat it," the Colonel snapped. "We are well aware of Stryker, his Purifiers, mutants, what the Xavier Institute really is, and the existence of ghosts and the like. Just lay it all on the table."

And they jumped up a few more notches.

"The Purifiers set up an ambush near the school. Dean and Logan, another...ah...mutant, stopped the car a few blocks from where they thought it would be. I guess they hoped to take the fight to the Purifiers, keep them distracted. But they weren't alone, there were demons."

"Demons." Colonel Darling interrupted. "As in winged creatures or actual human possessions?"

"Demon possessions," John confirmed. "Since the kids were primary targets the demons headed right for them. Dean and Logan managed to distract a number of them and they set some kind of trap using the radio, I'm still not clear on that part, but I guess it knocked out a lot of the demons.

"One demon made it to the car and set it on fire. Libby and the kids took cover behind it but that couldn't last long, the way it was burning. Both kids are mutants by the way. One of them, Bobby, makes ice. I guess that makes him a serious threat to demons who like fire." He paused, wondering if he was just rambling now. Neither of the Darlings spoke so continued with his second-hand story.

"A few months back Bobby had been taken by Purifiers who really did a number on the kid. Dean said they had him chained to a wood burning stove, third degree burns covering both forearms, dehydrated, just in really bad shape when they found him. Their treatment was to put him in a freezer and cover him with ice. It worked so well the kid temporarily turned into a walking ice cube.

"Libby knew about the ice cube thing and talked him through doing it again. Guess he didn't really understand how he did it the first time. All this with a demon breathing down their necks and hiding behind a burning car that could blow any second, mind you.

"After Bobby turned into a human popsicle, when he opened his eyes he saw Libby throwing herself in front of him. Before he had time to react a car door landed on her." John paused long enough to breathe. The last part he had rattled off without taking a breath. "Bobby wouldn't tell me any more after that point, so I can only guess that he managed to hold off the demon on his own until Dean could arrive."

John decided to skip the big finale where he finally killed that yellow-eyed bastard demon. It was supposed to be his Big Moment, the day his beloved wife was avenged. Instead it felt hollow, just one threat to the school down. A second neutralized threat was Stryker himself but his Purifiers were still running around loose. More demons, always more of those bastards. It was one of those days where he realized that his work might never be done, not if he wanted to keep his sons safe.

"She was hurt protecting a child." A glance to the side revealed Colonel Darling holding his wife's hand. "That's our girl."

Colonel Darling did not speak again until the mansion was in view. "This unconventional procedure. What is it?"

This might require a little more explanation.

* * *

"Sam thinks it should help a lot," Dean explained, stroking the back of Libby's hand. Her skin was soft, warm, alive. He could see the gentle movements as her chest rose with each breath. Occasionally he caught a flicker of emotion or pain from her. It happened more often when he talked to her.

"I don't know about any of that medical stuff. I'm just supposed to be the battery." He chuckled about it, mainly because she couldn't. There was a short spike of something, maybe worry or anger, he could not be sure. "Lib, I can't stand seeing you like this. Before Sam came up with this crazy idea all I could do was sit here. Now maybe I can help."

Some emotion now would be nice, a little indication that she heard him, that she understood he was trying. No one had given up on her. He wouldn't let them.

A throat cleared from the doorway, a warning that there would be intruders invading their privacy. When he dragged his eyes up the image of Dad in the doorway was a bit of shock. Usually he could feel Dad coming from a mile away. Literally. Dad being able to sneak up was weird.

"Son? Can we come in?"

His eyes felt funny but it was Dad. Dean waved them in then used the back of that hand to wipe at his eyes, embarrassed when it came away wet. "We" meant Colonel and Missus Darling. Great, and they caught him almost crying. Some strong supportive boyfriend he was.

The Darlings stood beside Libby's bed and stared down at her with these shattered looks. Dean had seen those looks before on the faces of people who had just lost a family member to something that went bump in the night.

"She's going to get better," he promised, because there was no alternative. "My brother Sam is going to help her, he's a healer. She'll wake up soon."

"Dean? Maybe we should go eat, give Libby's parents a little time, huh?" Strong hands tried to pull him to his feet but Dean remained where he was. Couldn't they see he found a way to fix this?

"Good idea," Colonel Darling said, coming to attention. "Dean, I understand you need to be well rested for this procedure tomorrow morning. We expect you to eat a good meal and hit the sack."

Was he being dismissed?

The Colonel frowned down at him. "Son, if you expect me to allow this unconventional procedure to happen, you and your brother need a good night's sleep. I believe Mother and I are quite capable of looking after our daughter. Dismissed."

Dean turned his head to gaze at his father hoping for the dismissal to be countermanded.

"He's right, Dean. Come on." Dad tugged and this time Dean rose to his feet.

"You should talk to her," he told them as Dad tried to usher him out of the room. "She likes when you talk to her."

"They will, son," Dad crooned in his ear while pushing him out the door, "they will. They're her parents. She's in good hands, you know that."

Then why did he feel like he might never see Libby again?


	102. Chapter 102: Nightmares

With all the spare rooms filled the only place for Dean to sleep was in Libby's little apartment. It was cold and quiet in here. He had never realized how cold her rooms were. And quiet. It had never been this quiet before, not even when he came her without her. Dean pushed open the door to the bedroom and snapped on the light as he walked in.

The first thing to slap him in the face was her ugly-ass wallpaper. It was a terrible shade of pink with tiny little white flowers. Just like the flowers on her dress. The last dress he saw her wearing.

Turning an abrupt about-face on his heel Dean marched from the bedroom, turned off the light and slammed the door shut. He stood outside the room trying to catch his breath which was not exactly easy with busted ribs.

Deciding that the bed was out, he stretched out on her couch. One armrest served as his pillow and his feet were propped up on the far side. So much for a good night's rest. That was when he realized that he had not bothered to take off his shoes much less change for bed.

To hell with it.

Dean closed his eyes hoping like hell he would sleep too hard to dream, too hard to wake up a million times during the night, hard enough when he opened his eyes next it would be morning.

* * *

Scott paced up and back the full length of his room, nerves too jittery for sleep.

"It's tomorrow, isn't it?" Jean asked. Like she didn't know.

"First thing after breakfast," Scott confirmed, spinning to pace the other way.

"And you're pacing because?" she asked, looking like she did not have a care in the world. Scott paused in his pacing. Was he the only one besides the Winchesters and Libby's family who was on edge about this?

"What I mean is, why are you so nervous? Everyone is hoping for Libby to make a full recovery, the library has been closed since she was injured because the other librarian can't stop crying, but what about this is making you so upset?"

"She's a civilian," Scott spat, spinning to pace past her. "She has no training, she's supposed to remain at the mansion and be safe." He heard how his feet pounded the floor and could not stop. "Just like the kids. And what happens? Our librarian is hurt protecting one of the kids!" One arm flew up into the air with a mind of its own. "And what's her mutant ability? Remembering every book she's ever read, that's what. If she could apply it to tactics that would be great, but I've played her at chess. She sucks at it. She's a god-damned librarian and she should stay inside her library where it's safe!"

"Okay. I knew you were upset." Jean remained where she had been sitting on the corner of his bed. Her hands folded primly in her lap. Scott turned away to continue pacing. How anyone could sleep tonight was beyond him.

"Is there something else?" she asked.

Scott paused in his pacing to stare at the wall in front of him. "Hunter and his brother Sam have come up with a crazy last-ditch plan. If this doesn't work Doctor McCoy is pretty sure she won't last the week." He sighed, running a hand through his hand as he turned to regard her. "If we lose Libby, we'll lose the Winchesters too, Hunter first. And as tight as Logan and Hunter are he'll be next. I'd have to rebuild the combat training programs, find a demons teacher, figure out how to make the back-up librarian stop crying so we can reopen the library, and put together a new strike team. And..."

"And what?" Jean's head tilted to one side, her eyes wide. "There's more?"

The next admission turned out to be easier than he thought it would be. "And I know all of that would fall on me because I don't think they would invite me to leave with them."

Surprising Jean was nearly impossible. This time Scott was uncertain if he should take it as an accomplishment or an excuse to temporarily wallow in self-pity before resuming his role as headmaster and team leader first thing in the morning.

* * *

Logan stood outside the large picture window downstairs, near the spot where he nearly had to throw an irritatin' librarian over his shoulder to carry inside before a blizzard hit. What he wouldn't give t' hear her givin' him what-for over his grammar and Dean chucklin' about it. Instead he was starin' outside wonderin' what stupid thing Dean would do if'n she didn't pull through.

"Logan?" That voice was both gentle and commanding. Only one woman he had ever met could pull that off.

"Yeah?" he grunted, his head snapping up to look at the stars instead of the classy lady headin' his way.

"Logan, what are you doing out here?" Ororo asked, stopping beside him. He could feel her lookin' up at th' sky too.

"Thinkin'."

"I too am worried about our Librarian," she replied like she could read 'is mind. Kinda creepy he was transparent like that. "And Hunter.

"When I went to visit the clinic he seemed to barely notice I was there. I have become accustomed to a certain level of familiarity with him. There was none." Warm fingers touched his arm. "Please tell me it is not that way for everyone."

"Pretty much," Logan sighed. "He ain't the same. I sent Kurt in thinkin' they would start up their stupid fart jokes. Nuthin'."

"Perhaps after tomorrow things will improve." Her whole hand slid across his skin to grasp his bicep and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Have you noticed how subdued the children are? How they all seem to be waiting for something?"

"He's leakin' again." Logan took the cigar outta his mouth to roll between his fingers. He preferred puttin' up with the leakin' than no-Dean. "I hate it when he leaks. I cain't sleep 'cause he keeps having nightmares. I'd wake 'im up but if he ain't well rested McCoy will try to push it back another day. Not sure Libby'll last that long."

"How can he be well rested if he is having nightmares?" Ororo demanded.

Logan looked her in the face for the first time since the ambush. She was tired. There were worry lines in her face and her mouth was drawn in a tight line. She couldn't sleep neither.

"Bad sleep is better'n no sleep." He stuck the cigar back in his mouth. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Dean will look all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first thing in the mornin', even if he don't sleep a wink."

* * *

Jess sat cross-legged on the bed staring at her boyfriend. Sam's nervous leg bounced higher and higher as he stared at the bedroom door.

"You need your sleep too, Sam," she tried coaxing him to bed again. "Why don't you just lay down for a while?"

"Something has to go right," Sam muttered as if he had not heard her. "I have to be able to fix something."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jess demanded. When Sam paused in his staring to shoot her a dirty look it caught her off-guard.

"I think you know," he snapped, then resumed his door vigil.

"I know what?" Jess asked, bewildered. "What am I supposed to know?"

He stood to tower over her and glower down. On second thought, she would prefer he stare morosely at the door.

"You know exactly what I mean," he hissed, eyes flashing with annoyance. "And I'm sick of you hiding it. I mean seriously, did you think I wouldn't find out?" One arm flung out toward the door. "Or did you think I'd be so distracted with Libby that I wouldn't notice?"

A nasty expression crawled across his face and she shrank back. 'It'? Did he mean...? Of course he would find out eventually but surely not this soon. She should have at least a couple more weeks.

"Find out?" she squeaked. Not yet, she prayed, not until after they knew for sure about Libby.

Sam leaned over, planted a hand on either side of her to support himself so his nose was only an inch from hers while his body hovered menacingly. His eyes smoldered with anger.

"You're pregnant," he growled. "And you didn't bother telling me."

She blinked up at him as innocently as she could wondering why he was so angry. Jess had envisioned this moment a thousand times in the past week, how overjoyed he would be when she told him, how he would romantically insist they run off to marry immediately.

"You let me take you off-campus into the heart of the anti-mutant movement and a demon ambush pregnant," Sam hissed, the anger in his voice and eyes growing. "You stayed behind with me to help treat the wounded only a few feet from the fighting." One arm lifted to point towards the hall.

"That could be you in the clinic instead of Libby. Dean and I could be planning how to save you and having to make a decision about the baby." His hand lowered to slam a fist into the mattress beside her. "With your medical condition there is no way you'd be able to recover from those injuries pregnant!"

Oh. That was why he was this upset.

"It's not me," she whispered, her entire being intimidated by his anger which was fueled wholly by how much he cared. Even in her daydreams she had not injected this much emotion into Sam. Trembling fingers reached up to stroke his cheek. "Baby, it's not me. I'm right here. I'm fine."

Eyelids slammed down over his smoldering eyes. When they opened again they were wet and shiny. The anger was gone and he let out a shuddering breath.

"I keep wondering what-if..." Sam mumbled and she noticed that his whole body trembled.

"Come here." Jess stretched out on the bed, inviting him to join her. He crawled in beside her, his head resting against her shoulder. She trailed her fingers through his thick hair. "I love you too."

* * *

Bobby stared unseeing at the ceiling, too keyed up to sleep. It was too bad Steve had started sleeping through the night, he could use a little company about now.

"Sleeping?" Steve whispered. The form in the next bed rolled towards him. The only light leaking into their room came from under the door where a hall light always burned bright. Too many kids were scared of the dark these days. Since their window was painted over their room was darker than most. Bobby could barely make out Steve's eyes in the dark.

"Nah," he sighed, rolling on his side to face his roommate. "You either?"

When their room lamp stationed between the beds clicked on Bobby was momentarily blinded. He blinked away the spots as Steve sat up.

"It's about Miss Libby, right?" Steve's expression was understanding.

"She shouldn't have done it," Bobby complained. "I was ice, that car door probably wouldn't have hurt me."

"You didn't know that," Steve pointed out. "Miss Libby sure didn't." His gaze dropped to the floor. "I miss the way she tucks me in after I have a nightmare."

"And the way she always finds a way to help you go back to sleep." Kitty's voice came through the wall. What was this? Grand Central Station? Her shadowy figure stepped out of the wall. "I figured you two wouldn't be able to sleep."

She plopped down in the floor between their beds. "Steve is right, you know. She was just being Miss Libby and that's not your fault."

After rubbing his face with both hands Bobby sighed. "I can't believe that's what it took for me to understand why Dean is dating her."

Steve's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open a little. "They're dating? Professor Hunter and Miss Libby? For real?"

Kitty scowled at Steve. "You don't pay any attention to rumors?"

"He doesn't talk to anybody but us and Sarah," Bobby pointed out. "Where would he hear it?"

"Is that why Professor Hunter hasn't been in class this week?" Steve asked, peering at both of them expectantly.

"Would you be?" Kitty demanded. "If your girlfriend was dying?"

"She's not dying!" Bobby shouted, leaping from bed with both fists raised at Kitty. "Don't you say that!"

Faster than the time it took to blink, Kitty went transparent. Her scowl was easy to see though. "Being in denial doesn't change anything. It's not your fault, Bobby, but she is dying."

He took a swing, knowing his fist would pass right through her. His hope was that it would make her mad enough to leave.

"Stop it!" screamed Steve. That was loud enough to wake up some of the teachers. "Stop it!" Covering his ears with both hands Steve kept screaming for them to stop until Miss Jess burst into the room.

She raced to Steve, tugging his hands down and begging him to stop screaming. There were tears in her eyes. Dean's brother Sam stood in the doorway.

"Come on," he said to them with a jerk of his head to the hall, "let's go."

Feeling like a world-class jerk for causing Steve to lose it, Bobby followed quietly behind. He wondered if Kitty was with him or if she had ducked out through the wall. Sometimes she did that to keep out of trouble.

When they reached the rec room Sam motioned to the big sofa. "Sit down." His tone sounded more like Mister Winchester than Dean ever did, demanding and scary. Dean might be demanding but you knew he was always on your side, too.

Sam sighed as he stared down at them through his bangs. Then he swept his hair aside before dropping down to sit on the floor in front of them. His eyes reminded Bobby of Dean. It was the first time that he noticed any similarity between them.

"What happened with the kid who doesn't talk?" he asked sounding like he just lost a bet or was really tired.

"Bobby tried to hit me," Kitty replied, arms crossed over her chest as she looked away from him. So she did come with them. Huh.

"You tried to hit a girl?" Sam demanded, his tone sounding more like Mister Winchester again.

"You can't hit her," Bobby dismissed the whole idea with a wave of his hand, "she just goes all shadowy and your hands passes right through her. I just wanted her to leave."

Kitty scoffed loudly and twisted so her back was to him.

Sam muttered something Bobby could not make out and rubbed his face with one hand, similar to one of Dean's habits.

"Okay. Let's try this: Why did you want her to leave?" Sam gave him a pleading look.

"Aren't you supposed to be a healer?" Bobby demanded, the realization that Miss Libby's life depended on what this guy could do hitting him like a ton of bricks. "Shouldn't you be figuring out a way to help her?"

"You woke me up!" Sam snapped harshly, as if that made a damn bit of sense. Then he went real still for a moment, eyes closed, and his breathing turned steady and regular.

Bobby couldn't help exchanging a glance with Kitty: Did you see that? She saw it. Then she turned her back on him again. Girls. He would never understand girls.

One of Sam's hands lifted in the air stopping him from asking again about what he should be doing for Miss Libby. A small smile came over Dean's brother's face and his head bobbed down in several gentle nods. Too weird. Bobby would have liked to ask Kitty about it but she was being too hostile.

"Okay," Sam said eventually in a whispery voice, "I think we're good." His eyes opened slowly, the smile still on his face. "I don't care why you were fighting. I don't want to know." His shoulders dropped and he seemed more relaxed. "Because if I know, I'll be upset. And if I'm upset Dean will wake up and want to know what's wrong. So you two are going to listen and do what I say.

"Kitty is going to her room and she is going to bed. Bobby will go back to his room, apologize for whatever set that other kid off, and then he'll go to bed. The screaming kid won't scream any more and he'll go to bed. I don't care if you sleep or not. I don't care if you ever sleep again." He said the whole thing in this sing-song fakey voice that gave Bobby the creeps.

"Go," Sam added with that weird peaceful smile on his face. "Go now. And walk. Quietly."

Freaked beyond reason, Bobby stood to walk slowly from the rec room. Once he was in the hall Kitty split off for the girl's wing without saying a word. Good. Bobby broke into a run for his room and hoped Miss Jess would still be there.

Luckily she was, Miss Jess was tucking Steve into bed with a sweet smile. She sat next to him as she pulled up his sheets and Bobby felt a weird pang of jealousy.

"And here is Bobby," Miss Jess said in a quiet voice. "See? I told you he would only be a minute, didn't I?" She waved Bobby into the room. "There won't be any more fighting, will there?"

"Miss Jess?" Steve reached out to touch her arm. One of her pretty smiles flashed. "Is it true? Kitty said Miss Libby was dying. Is it true?"

The pretty smile died as her face went blank. "Well...um..." Miss Jess fumbled around with Steve's blanket. "Libby is..." A few tears dribbled down her cheeks before a bright fake smile appeared. "She'll be just fine, Steve. Just fine. She needs a few more days is all. You'll see, she'll be fine." Then she jumped up and ran out of the room as tears streamed down her face.

"Gee," Bobby muttered, dropping to sit on the edge of his bed, "that's reassuring."

"You should apologize to Kitty," Steve said in a heavy voice.

"What for?" Bobby demanded, feeling more like a surly two-year-old than an almost grown man.

"Because." His roommate's voice was a rough whisper and his eyes were too bright. "She was right. About all of it. Miss Libby is dying and it's not your fault."

Bobby snorted through his nose as before flinging himself into bed. He did not bother to turn off the light, he was too much in the dark as it was.

* * *

A/N: Double-header! Since I'm partial to these evil cliffies, I really didn't think leaving you with basically the exact same cliffhanger two weeks in a row would be very nice. Next chapter will be: Saving Libby.


	103. Chapter 103: Saving Libby

When he woke up Dean wondered if he looked as bad as he felt. He'd better not. To use Libby's bathroom he would have to go through the bedroom. Nope.

After pulling on a fresh shirt Dean headed out to the community men's room hoping he wouldn't run into anyone who might narc on him. Just his luck Summers was in there shaving. The headmaster didn't say a word, just nodded in greeting.

Still hoping to pull this off, he headed for the sink furthest from Summers to wash his face. He still looked like crap. Hollow eyes stared back at him with dark rings underneath. How could he possibly look worse after sleeping? It was only a few hours, granted, but should he really look worse?

"Here." Summers held out an electric razor. "Men always look better shaved.

Slowly Dean reached out to accept the gift. "Shouldn't you be calling Hank on me?"

Summers shook his head and shoved the razor into his hand. "If I were in your shoes there is no way I'd have been able to sleep. I'm surprised you look this good."

Tossing the headmaster an odd glance, Dean turned to face the mirror and shave. He stared at the settings wondering if he should shave his face clean until he remembered how much Libby liked the stubble. After adjusting the settings he gave himself a quick shave. Then he washed his face again and hoped it would make him appear more awake.

It did seem to work.

"Clean shirt?" Summers demanded, circling him from behind. Dean nodded. "Good. Your hair looks funny. Have you washed it lately?"

Dean had to think about that one before he shook his head no.

"Damn it," Summers breathed. "Okay, tell you what, you jump in the shower. My stuff is still in that stall." He pointed out the last shower stall. "I'll go grab a towel and some clean clothes from your room, back in a second." Dean stared after Summers without moving until the guy turned around and made a face at him. "Move!"

Move. His feet responded automatically to the order, taking him to the shower. There he undressed swiftly, his brain still not engaged, his hands and feet moving with a mind of their own. Soon Dean stood under a hot spray of water and he began to wake.

"How's it coming?" Summers' voice shouted over the noise of the water. "I know you still need to eat!"

Food. That sounded like a great idea. After rinsing the soap out of his hair and from his body, Dean shut off the water. After a quick rub with a towel that mysteriously appeared over the stall, probably thanks to Summers, Dean yanked on clean clothes. They stuck to his mostly wet body but he felt invigorated, awake.

"I'll take care of cleaning up," Summers assured him when he walked out. "Go. I think I spotted Logan in the hall."

In the hall. Again his feet took him without asking his brain but that was all right, for the moment Dean was content to ride along. He had a nagging sense that there was something momentous coming up but at the same time he did not want to dwell on it.

"Kid!" Logan's gruff voice was good to hear. "There ya are." His friend rushed to his side. "I hear breakfast is ready."

Logan escorted him to the cafeteria where a fully loaded tray waited at his usual spot. He didn't even have to go through the line. A few of the others were there: Xavier, Hank, Dad, Sam and Jess. Jess had looked better and she felt queasy. Their collective anticipation was thick, tasting like overly sweet maple syrup. Without bothering to greet anyone Dean sat down and started to eat. He forced down as much food as he could though for perhaps the first time in his life he was not that hungry. While he ate Summers arrived to silently join the breakfast committee.

Again the feeling of the day's importance struck and Dean paused in eating, trying to make sense of it. He scanned the silent faces surrounding him, took in the otherwise empty cafeteria, and forced himself to remember why he was here instead of in the clinic with Libby.

"Do I pass?" Dean demanded, dropping his fork though there were still a few bites left on his tray. If he forced down any more he might be sick and that really would not look good.

Silent nods rounded the table though Hank kept staring at him. Dean stared back and wished that he dared to force the good doctor to allow his and Sam's crazy plan, but if he did he would lose too much energy and Sam needed all he could provide.

"One provision," Hank stated in his doctor voice, the one that demanded absolute obedience. "You will allow an I-V."

"Libby already has one," Dean replied, confused.

"In your arm, son," Dad replied, his voice so gentle Dean had to look twice to be certain it was his father. "Doctor McCoy and I were up half the night talking about this. If he can put an I-V in you, then you can take in a constant source of supplements which means you'll be able to keep up a higher energy level or a low one for a longer time, whichever works out better."

"I like it," Sam interjected. "He'll do it."

It sounded like all the decisions had been made. "Then we're ready? Sam?"

His brother stood as well. "Let's do this."

* * *

Libby's parents seemed to have aged years overnight. Maybe it was the bags under their eyes. Dean could relate. They were taken to the observation room while Hank put in the I-V. Once Dean was suitably prepped, McCoy left and it was just him, Sam and Libby.

"What was up with Jess this morning?" Dean asked, helping to arrange the chairs beside Libby's bed.

"Ask me later," Sam insisted, eyes only for Libby. "What do you think? Check the internal injuries first, make sure there aren't any fresh bleeders, and then we can see if there's something we can do about all that fluid in her cranium?"

"Fluid in her cranium?" Dean asked, feeling lost. "As in on her brain?"

The hard look from Sam was expected, when it melted into concern that was strange. "Dean, we've talked about this. Jess told me that she thought you mentally shut down when the details come up but I didn't believe her. You do, don't you?"

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I've never made it past broken ribs," Dean admitted. Finally.

"Those are last," Sam warned him. "Broken ribs might hurt like hell but they're not life-threatening. We'll just go with Hank's game plan."

Dean nodded. Hank might have blue fur and fangs but he sure seemed to know his stuff.

"How are we going to do the energy thing?" Sam asked nervously. "We've never really done this on purpose before."

"You haven't," Dean corrected. "I've done it a lot. You focus on Libby, don't worry about me, don't even think about me. I'll keep my hands on your shoulders and I'll watch your energy field. Any time it seems to slip I'll pump more into it. Try little stuff at first to give me time to get the hang of this, all right?"

"Like I said, I'll look for fresh bleeders first. That would explain a lot about her current condition," Sam replied as his hands lowered to touch her, one hand on her abdomen and the other on her chest just below her neck.

Dean rested his hands on Sam's shoulder and arm. Since his brother did not need to move in order to heal it did not matter where Dean made contact. As he concentrated Sam's personal energy field came into view, a slight shimmer in the air similar to heat rising off pavement. Experimentally Dean injected a little more energy into it until it appeared stable. Now all he had to do was maintain it and try not to think about what Sam was doing.

* * *

Broken and fractured bones. A lot of them. The ones that weren't were bruised. Since her ribcage and spine had taken most of the hit there were only a couple of bruised internal organs. Sam had expected a lot more damage than this.

Floating along between the organs he searched for internal bleeding and found nothing. McCoy had done a good job in surgery. Sam could start with the bruised organs or the bones but he knew those would not prevent her from regaining consciousness. There was still something really wrong.

Riding the currents of her blood, Sam tagged along as the red cells picked up fresh oxygen at the lungs, which were not punctured, and headed toward her head. Neck was fine, soft tissue and muscles undamaged. As he entered the cranium the pressure built up until Sam began to feel dizzy.

Needing to pause for a moment Sam pulled himself from her head to hover back in the safe spot of her neck. He could do this, he told himself, no stupid fluid would get the better of him. After regrouping Sam dove back in with renewed determination.

The fluid was bad, causing high pressure on her brain, damaging cells, and was definitely the cause of her comatose state. Thinking fast, Sam asked the fluid to make a trip down to her digestive system to be processed out of the body. It was reluctant at first but he discovered that he no longer had to ask. Ordering living tissue to do what he wanted had never worked in the past but it did now. With their marching orders the fluid seeped away grumbling about having a job to do.

Next Sam examined the damaged cells on the brain. There was some swelling and bruising but no lacerations, nothing too severe. Trying ordering the cells around again, Sam saw them instantly start rebuilding, the inflammation dropping and the bruises improving. Of course this would not be a cure-all but it was a really good start.

Not feeling tired in the least Sam assumed his brother was still good as well. He dove back into her body to encourage the soft tissues to grow back healthy. Bone was one of his specialties, it had to be talked to in a certain way to respond. Sam started sweet-talking her spine the same way he sweet-talked Jess into watching monster movies when he felt homesick. It usually worked.

Before he could finish a heavy weariness fell on him like a lead-weighted blanket. Sam pulled back until he could open his eyes, wondering what the heck happened. Just a second ago he had felt fine, invigorated.

"Sam?" A big blue monster hand shook his shoulder and he resisted reaching for the piece that was not tucked into his back waistband. "Sam, do you hear me?"

Blinking slowly as if he had been in a deep sleep, Sam searched for his brother. Dean was in bed next to Libby, eyes closed, the I-V pumping cloudy fluid into his arm.

"What happened?" Sam managed to ask. "It was going so well and then..."

"It was going well?" Hank demanded, excitement creeping into his voice. "What happened?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam shook his head trying to clear it. "What happened to Dean?"

"Exactly what I knew would happen," Hank replied heavily, "he did too much. And he was sneaky about it too, keeping the energy level low but sustaining it for a longer period than he should. When the levels we were monitoring began to dip, our first indication that he was in trouble, it was too late. He passed out."

Sam scowled and mentally kicked himself. "I knew I should've pulled out instead of talking to her bones. I mean, we agreed bones weren't that important, I should've stuck to that." He glared at his brother's prostrate form. "Damn it, Dean. You should've said something."

"You worked on the bones first?" Hank demanded. "Sam, we discussed at length the best procedure-"

"No, those were last," Sam snapped, feeling cranky. "I did what we decided. I checked for bleeders but there weren't any. Lots of internal bruising and pretty much every bone in her torso is broken, fractured or bruised. You'd think the whole car fell on her instead of just the door."

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Sam followed it to see all of the people watching from the observation room, including Libby's parents. At the moment her mother's face was buried against her father's chest. Crap.

"Sam?" Another shake of his shoulder and his attention returned to the blue doc. "Go on. Did you attempt to heal the organs or bones?"

"Not then," Sam defended himself. This was starting to feel like an interrogation. "I checked out her head, just like we agreed. That was the real problem, all that fluid on her brain, bruises, swelling.

"You know, I've never been able to order other people's bodies to do stuff before. I've always had to ask. I asked the fluid to go away and it refused. So I told it to. That never worked before."

"It worked this time?" Hank demanded, the pressure on Sam's shoulder increasing. "It did work?"

"Oh, sure." The irritation fell away as the usual good feelings following a successful healing began, only this time it felt ten times as good. It was like being really, really drunk without all those nasty side-effects like not being able to think straight or losing coordination. Sam caught himself in a giggle and stopped immediately when Hank lifted one black furry eyebrow at him. "I think I shot something like you one time, did you know that?" He giggled again, the thought too hysterical to contain.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him and Sam spun his chair around.

"Dad!" he shouted, arms open for one of his father's famous bear-hugs.

"Sam, you need to finish telling Doctor McCoy what happened," Dad insisted.

"After my hug." Sam waved his father closer. "I mean it, Dad. Hug first."

Dad's strong safe arms wrapped around him and gave him a quick hug, definitely not up to their usual standards. What was wrong with him?

"Are you feeling well, Sam?" Hank asked.

"I feel great!" Sam spun his chair around twice before he started feeling dizzy and had to stop. That made him laugh out loud. "Whoa, Nellie!"

"Oh, God," Dad muttered from behind him. "Hank, what the hell is wrong with him?"

"Wrong with me?" Sam demanded, a bright smile covering his face. "Nuthin'!"

"When a healer manages to fix something with another person, such as a cut or bruise, the healer experiences a natural high similar to what is referred to as a runner's high. This would appear to be a runner's high raised by an exponential power."

"Yadda-yadda-yadda," Sam giggled, blowing off the doctor. "Dad? Guess what? I told off brain tissue and it listened! It never listened like that before, it was awesome!"

"Sam, son, I need you to focus," Dad insisted, spinning Sam to face him. Sam stared at his father trying like hell to focus. He did not know what he was supposed to focus on: Dad needing a haircut, Dad needing a shave, or Dad having too many old-man lines in his face. Was that something he could fix?

"You said you told off Libby's brain tissue and it listened. Does that mean you think she'll start feeling better?"

Sam shook his head and he heard a collective gasp from the observation room. "No way, she's going to feel like hell for weeks, maybe months. I couldn't fix all the bruising on her organs or the bone damage."

"But she is not dying?" Dad demanded, hands on Sam's cheeks to force him to look at his father. "Sam? Is she going to die?"

"She'd better not," Sam snapped. "That's some of my best work." He gazed over his father's hands trying to catch Hank's eye. "But she's going to need some really good painkillers when she wakes up."

Then he received one of the best hugs ever from Dad. About time, too.

* * *

Safe. She was safe. In here there was no pain, no torture from her body, no demons, no Purifiers. She was safe.

But there was no one else here either. Sometimes she caught a tantalizing tone that she wanted follow but it led straight out of her safe place. At times like now the tone was a siren's song, demanding to be followed into what she knew would be a world of pain.

A thick haze had covered her thoughts, blocking out the tone most of the time. Now the haze had lifted and she could hear voices, sometimes one, sometimes many. They drifted in and out, sometimes so familiar she knew she should be able to identify them, sometimes they seemed to be strange and foreign.

Then a word broke through her haze, "Baby." Instantly a man's face appeared in her thoughts, a strong face with a gentle smile. Harsh pain erupted from everywhere, clouding her thoughts, shoving the sweet voice away. Then coolness hit her arm, spreading relief down to her fingertips before it climbed toward her shoulder. With agonizing slowness it spread across her body. When it reached her chest she found she could take a deep breath without swords piercing through her ribs and stomach.

"Baby? Libby, open your eyes. Come on Baby, you've scared me enough lately."

Scared? He should not be scared. Resolved to right the situation Libby tried opening her eyes but blinding light stabbed her retinas and her arms refused to move to protect them.

"Easy, Baby," his voice crooned, soothing, sweet, gentle. "Okay, try it again. We turned down the lights."

At first she could only pry her eyelids apart the tiniest slit, barely enough to make out a blurred image in front of her. It was probably too close, she needed her glasses. A thousand questions formed on her lips but her mouth was too dry to speak, there was not enough air in her lungs, and she was exhausted.

"More," the voice encouraged. "Open your eyes."

Forcing her eyes further open made her stomach turn and her dry eyeballs ache. Now there were several blurred blobs hovering over her face. She really wished they would either back up where she could see who it was or somebody hand over her glasses. She tried to reach up where they should be hanging from her neck but her hand was caught up in a strong grip. Come to think of it, both her hands were being held tightly as if she might slip away through the floor.

"Oh, she can't see us," a familiar woman's voice stated. "Where are her glasses?"

She knew that voice, Libby was certain that she knew it. Why could she not place it?

"Uh, here." A man's voice, one she did not recognize, spoke. "We need to order a new pair."

She felt people fumbling around her face and the world around her came into focus. There were several long scratches across the right lens and she could not feel the right earpiece at all. Her glasses tilted severely to the right.

The glasses did not help much. One face was more familiar than the rest, the handsome one. The faces of the older people, worried and caring, were intriguing. Libby was certain that she knew them, they were important, but at the same time she could not figure out why.

Her logical mind demanded that she deal with this one face at a time. Focusing first on the handsome one, the face with the sad eyes and the hopeful smile, she concentrated until her head began to ache.

"Easy, Baby," he whispered, his free hand raising to push the hair away from her face before stroking her cheek. It was almost as if he knew how she felt.

That triggered a memory of her sitting in the floor, his head in her lap while she petted his short hair and traced his strong jaw with her fingers.

"Dean." The name was out of her mouth before her brain bothered to process it, but the moment it hit the air she knew it was right. The small smile turned into a blazing grin and she felt happier, more hopeful. In an instant she knew in her soul that she would be all right.

Relieved by the realization she focused on the older people. Logic dictated they should be her parents. Since she had obviously been injured and was in a hospital someplace, it made perfect sense for her parents to be at her side when she woke.

"Mom? Dad?" she tried, hoping to be right. Her voice croaked on each word and the effort required to speak was draining. They exchanged worried glances which threatened to dash her hopes.

"Right here, sweetheart," the woman assured her, clasping both hands around hers.

"We were talking about taking turns sitting with you," Dean told her, his siren's voice keeping her from returning to that safe place without blinding light or pain. "Or not. I can stay," he added quickly, his free hand now stroking the back of her hand. "Easy Baby, let some circulation in there."

She had not realized how tight she had been clutching his hand, her lifeline. At the moment Libby was convinced that without him she could not be here. Allowing her fingers to relax their grip she insisted, "Stay."

"Right here." His chair clunked against the tile floor as he proved he could remain right beside her.

His smile faded as he stared at her. Then he turned away to call out, "Hank? She's exhausted. Can she go back to sleep?"

Then smiling eyes returned to stare into hers and his voice assured her that she could sleep now, he would be here when she woke. She was safe here too.


	104. Chapter 104: Picking up the Pieces

Chapter 104: Picking up the Pieces

* * *

Bobby Drake did his best to ignore when Kitty walked into a room, spoke to Steve, or basically came anywhere near him. It was proving to be almost impossible before the adults noticed. Now it was totally impossible.

Logan had him by the collar, dragging him off into the underground tunnels that were forbidden to students. Kitty skipped along beside them, slipping through the walls to check out what was behind the closed doors they passed.

"Kitty," Logan growled, distinctly unhappy. Bobby hadn't heard that tone directed at Kitty before. At him? Sure. Daily. But at Kitty? Since when? But it seemed to work, she stopped snooping and walked in her solid form on Logan's other side.

"Don't even ask about me turnin' ya loose, brat," Logan added, glaring down at him. "You done run away from this three times and this time you're goin' if I got to knock your ass out. You hear me?"

Yeah, yeah, he heard. Bobby had a good retort for that one but not with Miss Priss in earshot. She was probably waiting for a good excuse to go running to Mister Summers. She'd been a real pain lately. With an extra yank on his collar they stopped in front of a set of doors. These were different from the rest in the tunnel, they had a huge red medical cross on them with those creepy entwined serpents on top of a big blue triangle.

He did not want to be here. Panicked, Bobby glanced around for a means of escape and a burly arm wrapped itself around his neck, forcing him to bend over. With his head trapped between Logan's arm and body he was pretty well screwed. Unless...

"Don't even think about freezin' me," Logan growled with a rough squeeze to his head, "unless you wanna wake up as a patient instead-a just vistin' one."

Crap. Screwed. Totally, royally, completely screwed.

When the medical doors opened his heart pounded mercilessly in his chest and his breathing turned short and rapid. He had to escape, he had to.

"It's about time." Dean's voice came from across the room. "What took so long?"

"Ever try t' chase down an ice cube?" Logan demanded, hauling him past the open doors.

A light pleasant woman's laugh reached past his struggles and he went stock still. Afraid to look, afraid not to, Bobby forced his eyes to lift until he could see the interior of the room.

Several empty beds stood waiting for the next X-Men mission or the next time there was a demon-Purifier attack. One bed held an occupant, a woman.

"Miss Libby?" Kitty rushed forward, all smiles.

For an instant Bobby allowed hope to blossom in his chest only to have it crushed by what happened next.

"And what's your name?" Miss Libby asked. The woman who never forgot a book, name, or face couldn't remember who Kitty was. Fighting back tears Bobby redoubled his efforts to escape. At this moment he wanted to be anywhere but here, even in that abandoned movie theater where Steve and the other homeless mutants used to live. That place sounded better by the second.

A pair of hands captured his arms and reduced his struggles to just show. Logan released his head, allowing Bobby to lift it and see Dean was holding him now. Damn.

"Come on, kid," Dean whispered in his ear, "don't embarrass me. I've been saying good things about you."

His reluctant feet were forced to follow the rest of his body forward to stand beside the bed. Beside her.

"This is Bobby," Dean announced proudly, which was damned strange. "He's the one you've been asking for."

Miss Libby frowned and pursed her lips. "I know there is something wrong with that sentence." Then her head shook and a sweet smile appeared. "Oh well. Bobby, come over here, I have been looking forward to speaking with you." She patted the bed next to her hip.

With a hard swallow Bobby looked to Dean for help, but he was given a rough shove forward instead. On wobbly feet he shuffled closer.

"Come on, sit down," she insisted brightly, picking up a pair of reading glasses with bright red frames.

"Aren't those supposed to be black?" he asked, the words out of his mouth before he could pull them back.

Miss Libby laughed again as she settled them on her nose. "Oh, that is so boring. Why would I want to hide behind black? Now, let's take a look at you."

A strong hand, hardier than he dared hope, forced him to sit next to her on the bed. Kitty was giving him an odd look which he chose to ignore. Next Miss Libby was lifting up his chin with one finger, turning his head slowly from side to side as she studied his face.

"He doesn't look right," she murmured, staring at him intently through the glasses perched on the end of her nose. "Did Logan say something about an ice cube?" Her hand dropped away to drum steadily on the metal bar on the side of the bed. Then her fingers snapped and her face lit up.

"Ice! He's supposed to be covered in ice!" Elated she reached for his face with both hands and stared at him. "You are beautiful like that, Bobby. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"You...remember?" he breathed, that nasty hope daring to return.

"Of course I remember," she replied with a puzzled look. "It was right before..." Her brow furrowed and Bobby could swear everyone in the room held their breath waiting to hear what she said next. "It was right before a demon threw a flaming car door at you."

Her hands dropped away and she turned to look past him. "Oh, sweetie, your car! They burned it. I am so sorry."

"I'll live," Dean replied. Considering how he loved that car, the bright smile on his face over remembering it burning was really strange.

One of her arms wrapped around Bobby's shoulders and he was pulled into a hug. "Bobby, I am so glad you're all right. I've been worried sick about you. I assumed the worst after I asked about you last week and nobody brought you in to see me." She shot Logan a glare. "Even though I asked several times."

"It ain't like I didn't try," Logan snarled with a glare at him.

"Oh, please," Miss Libby shot back, "do you mean to tell me that this sweet boy-"

"Sweet!" Logan roared. "He ain't sweet! He's a stubborn block-a ice!"

"And don't use ain't," she replied, sounding more like herself, "it is not proper grammar."

"An' if I don't care none about no proper grammar?" Logan demanded, arms crossed resolutely across his chest while he glared defiantly.

Her eyes twinkled as she looked past Bobby. "Then I will have to keep reminding you."

She hugged Bobby again before releasing him. "All right, I hear you and Kitty have stopped speaking to each other. I want to settle this here and now. I will not have Dean's favorite students behaving foolishly." She patted the other side of her bed inviting Kitty to sit too.

"Out with it. Don't make me bring in Jess." Miss Libby rolled her eyes. "She is a sweet girl, but Lord is she nosey. Last time she came to see me all she wanted to talk about were pets I had as a child. Pets." She shook her head. "It sounded like one of the treatments mentioned in a textbook on amnesia. I think it was printed two years ago. Dean, would you check on that for me while we talk?"

"Sure, Baby." Dean leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Unfortunately for them, Logan did not leave. Instead he pulled up a chair and glowered at him and Kitty.

"Go on," he growled with a hand wave at them, "talk. I'm more sick of this than her and Dean."

Miss Libby shot a furtive glance at the door and held up one hand. "Give it a minute," she whispered. Her eyes closed for a moment. "Okay," she said, her eyes opening, "we're in the clear, he's really headed for the library. Now out with it, you two. Whatever it is I want it settled before Dean returns and I don't want it to come back."

"Nuthin'," Bobby insisted, avoiding eye contact with Kitty and Miss Libby, his gaze pinned to the floor beneath his feet.

"Do you two any have idea how moody you're making Dean?" Miss Libby demanded. "I won't have it. I am certain this feud between you two is silly nonsense. Now what is it?"

He could almost feel Kitty staring through his back and wished he could slide right through the floor to escape. At this moment he would trade mutant abilities with her on the spot.

"Bobby thinks it's his fault that you're hurt," Kitty stated. "I told him that was stupid and he's been mad at me ever since."

Not half as mad as he was right now. Both his hands balled into ice-coated fists. He barely noticed.

"Hey!" Logan barked from his chair, a finger pointed in his direction. "It ain't like you c'n touch her anyway."

"It isn't," Miss Libby added, though Bobby could not tell if she was agreeing with him or correcting his grammar.

"Kitty, I don't think this actually involves you. Would you mind leaving for a few minutes? Logan, perhaps you could go with her."

"C'mon, kid," Logan said, standing and waving for Kitty to join him. "I know when I ain't wanted."

"You are wanted, Logan," Miss Libby insisted, "outside the room."

A low chuckle rumbled as he herded Kitty out of the clinic. That left him alone. With her.

"Bobby?" A hand tugged on his shoulder. "Bobby, please look at me."

The ice retracted into his skin leaving behind a cool sensation. His fists relaxed. But he could not look at her again. He just couldn't, not knowing what he had done to her, how bad she had been hurt.

"I'll bet you're wondering why I threw myself in front of that car door."

Squeezing his eyes closed, his heart a pounding mass in his throat, Bobby nodded.

"Well it wasn't because you're the magnificent Bobby Drake."

His eyes flashed open and he spun to the side to see if she was serious. She looked more serious than when she discovered someone wrote in one her of library books.

"It was not because you may be the best defense against the demonic ever born," she continued. "And it was not because you are one of Dean's best friends."

"Wait. I'm what?"

"One of Dean's best friends." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "That's the real reason Logan will always call you a brat, by the way. He's a little jealous."

"Huh?" She was out of her ever-living mind. That was some serious brain damage going on in there.

One of her hands lifted to stroke his hair, first across the top and then on the side over his ear. Just like his mom.

"The real reason I did it is because you are a child. Don't argue with me," she added as his mouth opened to do just that, "you are a child. An adolescent. A juvenile." A pleased smile appeared. "See? My memory isn't so bad.

"At any rate, that is why I did it, to protect a child left in my care. I would have thrown myself in front of that car door for Kitty or any random child who happened to be in its path." She shrugged as if she had just made a terrible admission. "I'm sorry I can't say it was because I think the world will stop moving without you."

"Anybody?" he asked desperately. "You really would have done that for some kid you'd never met?"

"Without thinking about it," she declared seriously. "I'm afraid it is the way I am. If you had not been there I would have had to find another child to throw my body protectively in front of." Her lips pulled down in a frown. "Did I honestly end a sentence with a preposition?"

With a strangled laugh Bobby threw himself on her for a real hug.

"Oh! Ow!"

Bobby jumped back as if she had caught on fire. "What is it? What'd I do? Are you all right?"

Miss Libby pressed a hand to her right side while waving him toward her. "Bruised ribs, they hurt like hell. I want that hug just go easy on me, okay? How about hugging my neck? That doesn't hurt."

At her invitation he gently wrapped his arms around her upper shoulders and rested his cheek against her neck. When her arms tightened his embrace tightened.

"It's not your fault," she whispered into his ear, "I promise. No one blames you. God, I am so glad you weren't hurt."

Here she was laid up with injuries that by all rights should have been his and she could say that. She said it, out loud, that she was glad he was all right. Unbidden tears flowed and he buried his eyes against her shoulder to stem the tide. Deep feelings of guilt washed away with his tears.

When he finally managed to pull himself together, Bobby returned to sitting beside Miss Libby and staring at her. He used his shirt to wipe his face and Miss Libby handed him a box of tissues from her side table for him to blow his nose.

"I'm sorry you're hurt."

She smiled at him. "Me too, but there was nothing you could have done. Once I set my mind to something, that's it. It will happen."

"Tell me about it," Dean groused as he strode through the clinic doors. He might have sounded annoyed but there was a grin on his face. "It was published four years ago and called A Textbook Guide to Amnesia. But you knew that." He waved a dismissive hand at her as he sat in Logan's chair. "Don't bother denying it. I know when I'm being sent on a wild goose chase, Dad has sent me on enough." He glanced between them. "Everything settled?"

"Well..." As she talked, Libby rubbed Bobby's back in comforting circles the way Mom used to when he was little and upset. "I think Bobby does owe Kitty an apology and vice-versa. Other than that, we're good. Right Bobby?"

Honestly there was one more thing. He cleared his throat hoping this would not sound horribly stupid.

"My roommate Steve, he's one of the kids you always tuck in when he has a nightmare, says he really misses you." Bobby wondered if he should tell her the next part. Next thing he knew the words were just coming out. "Miss Jess might be really nice but he says she doesn't know how to tuck him in right.

"You're a good mom."

That didn't sound right. "I mean, you know, when your real mom can't be around. But Steve doesn't like his real mom and he likes you." Bobby scratched over his ear. "I'm not making a lot of sense, am I?"

Miss Libby leaned over to kiss his cheek and his skin pulsed where her lips touched. "I like you too. Please tell Steve I intend to be back on tucking duty very soon."

"And tell him next time he comes to visit he can say hi out loud," Dean added with a nod at him. "Later, Bobby. You can come back tomorrow after class if you want."

"Thanks."

When Bobby walked out he found Logan and Kitty lounging out in the tunnel. Crap. They probably heard everything and Kitty probably even peeked. Double-crap. Logan shot him a glare and nodded toward Kitty.

Great, he was expected to give an instant apology. Fine. He felt exhausted and he was so tired of being mad at Kitty, the teachers, and the world in general.

"Sorry," he declared and hearing how worn his own voice sounded was a surprise to him. As tired as he was he just wanted this over. "You were right. I was wrong." He deliberately avoided her wide eyes and the expression on her face which would either be shock or delight. Bobby was in no mood for either.

"Can I go to my room now? I'm ready to go to bed."

* * *

Dumbfounded, Kitty watched Bobby Drake walk away from her. How could he fight her all week and then just own up like that? And walk off on her?

A shove from Logan meant they should follow. Yes, that was a good idea. Maybe she could see what kind of game he was playing at now. When they exited the tunnels Bobby headed directly for the dorms as if he was serious about going to bed.

"What's he doing?" Kitty demanded of Logan, waving a hand at the stupid boy trudging upstairs.

"Said he was goin' to bed," Logan replied with a shrug. "Guess he's wore out."

"But he hasn't eaten," Kitty pointed out. "Or done his homework," she added triumphantly. "Bobby always does his homework so he can't be going to bed."

Logan shrugged as if he couldn't care less. Which he probably didn't. But still!

"Look Kitty, I got to go back. Libby gets another treatment t'night and I haveta watch. Monitor. Whatever." His cigar swiveled in the corner of his mouth. "And bring Dean some food. Almost forgot that part."

He started to walk away and Kitty could not believe she was being abandoned for someone else's dinner. She stomped her foot on the floor and Logan stopped in his tracks. His head turned to glare at her over his shoulder. "Problem?"

There was something in his tone that made Kitty understand she had crossed a line. She was not sure what line it was but she was definitely over it.

"Uh... What do I do about, um, Bobby?"

Logan glared in the direction Bobby had gone before glaring at her again. "He said he was sorry. If that's not good enough for ya, tough. It's between you and him, I got better things t'do."

* * *

"Nice," Dean assured Libby as he moved his chair closer. Hopefully Logan would be back soon with supper, his stomach might strike out on its own to go hunt down a meal.

"Do you think so?" Libby asked and Dean sighed internally. She had been so damned introspective lately. Before this week he didn't even know what that meant and now he dealt with it in spades.

"Oh, all right." Libby grinned at him. "What are we playing tonight? First date? First kiss?" Her hands rubbed together in anticipation as her eyes took on a twinkle that warmed his heart. "First month anniversary?"

Dean chuckled as he lifted a foot to rest against her hospital bed. "Now why do I think you already know all those answers? Or was that in the volume printed two years ago?"

"Oh, I didn't want Bobby to know I was throwing you out," she replied with her nose scrunched as if she could not believe he called her on it.

"Why?" Dean asked, thoroughly bewildered.

"Because I knew that boy needed a good cry. I couldn't do that to you again."

"Ah-ha!" He leveled a finger at her accusingly. "I knew you remembered our first date."

She grinned and his insides lightened, happiness welled up from everywhere and nowhere.

"Everything except if you kissed me." She blinked her big pretty eyes at him.

"Lady," Dean said, standing to tower over her and lower his head close to hers, "all you had to do was ask."

"God, I've only been hinting all damn da-" He shut her up with a kiss.

Now this was something she had not forgotten, how to kiss. With her it was not the skill involved, it was the emotions. Sweet light emotions danced across his tongue and sparkled behind his eyes. She was the only one who had ever caused sparkles and then only after they had been dating a while. He would take this long-term stuff over one-night-stands any day. Or night.

"What?" Libby demanded as she broke their kiss. "What's so funny?" Her pouty frown was adorable though he would not dare say so.

"Funny?" Dean shrugged. "I wasn't laughing. I was kissing you."

"But you thought it was funny," she insisted, rubbing her fingers over her lips. "Is my mouth swollen? I thought Sam fixed that."

"No it wasn't that, I was just thinking..." He broke off as the impact of her statement hit him. "Say that again."

"I thought Sam fixed that?" she asked slowly, as if he were being thick.

"Before that," Dean insisted, "before the whole swollen mouth thing. What did you say?"

"You thought something was funny." Her eyes narrowed on him. "I'm not that good of a kisser, right? Was that the funny part?"

"How could you know I thinking about something funny?" he demanded. "You can't possibly know that." He stared at her head, moving around to see if he could spot where she might have taken a hard enough knock to shake up her mutant abilities.

"Stop worrying," she chided, slapping him in the chest. "Worry tastes like...lime. Yes, definitely lime. It will make our dinner taste like a giant margarita. Hey!" Her pretty eyes lit up. "I think I like margaritas."

"I am so glad your parents will be here soon," he muttered, retaking his seat. "Sam and I are going to have a long-ass talk before he works on you tonight. I want to know how the hell you're turning into an empath."

"I'm not an empath," she assured him, feeling absolutely certain of it. "But since you brought this up, finally, when can I start telling people we're engaged?"

Reality and reason just did an enormous fly-by leaving the 'whooshing' sound ringing in his ears.

"Huh?" He stared uncomprehending at her. "What?"

"Engaged." Not only did she sound annoyed, she felt it too. "Seriously, Dean. When an empath bonds this closely with his 'girlfriend'..."

She made air quotes. Libby lifted both hands to make freaking air quotes. For an irrational moment he wished he had video of this because he knew she would deny it later. Maybe. Pre-car-door Libby sure would have. This version? Maybe not.

"...he might as well admit it and move to the next step. By the way, according to Miss Manners we really should have been engaged and then married at least a year before you bonded us like this."

"Miss Manners never wrote that," he replied weakly, wondering how much of this was her screwing with him, "she never met an empath." Her sense of humor had been seriously warped by that door. Was he too warped if he thought it was an improvement?

"Well, she would write it if she knew empaths existed," Libby insisted, hands fisting in the sheets. "So are we engaged or not? Because if we are you and my dad really need to have a talk. I believe it's proper for you to ask permission to marry me."

"I believe he prefers you calling him Colonel," Dean pointed out, trying to avoid this whole subject.

Libby made a sour face at him. "Right. Tell me he doesn't like it. Go ahead. What does he feel when I call him Dad?"

"Mainly confused," Dean replied.

"And Mom?" she demanded.

"The same. You used to call her Mother, by the way," he informed her.

"Too formal." She dismissed the whole idea with a wave of her hand. That hand was the best worked out part of her entire body at the moment. "Mom is not formal, that's my problem. Or that was my problem." She 'hmmm'ed while her brow furrowed in thought. "Yes, I think that IS my problem.

"Now the question is, should I work on it?"

"No."

Her gaze jumped to his face from being lost in thought. "What?"

"No," he repeated. "Don't work on anything. Just be you."

"Why?" One side of her mouth twisted up in a half-grin that matched the new twinkle of life in her eyes.

He grinned back. "Because I like you. Can we talk about the other stuff later? After I can take you out of here?"

One hand raised and was held out palm up. Dean placed his in it and instantly the physical touch created a constant surge of emotion from her to him. He wondered if it went the other way too.

"Promise?" she asked, staring intently into his eyes.

"Promise." He meant it too. And if that was what she really wanted...well...maybe he could do that.

"And you like me? The way I am right now?"

"I like you," he replied. "Right now. A lot."

"You are going to move in with me," Libby demanded, her face stern. "I don't care if you like my apartment or not."

"I like the apartment," he defended himself. "It's that wallpaper in the bedroom." Dean gave her a theatrical shudder.

"Oh, stop it," she laughed as Logan's typical steady emotions and gait approached in the hall.

"About time," Dean muttered, turning to greet dinner.

* * *

Logan stood in the observation room with all the "smart" guys. Hank and Professor X discussed readings on different equipment, throwin' around big words he didn't care about. John Winchester was tryin' t' look like he understood and was failin'. Libby's parents didn't try, they just stood at the window watchin'.

Sidling up alongside Winchester, and he might need to have his head examined for doin' it, Logan grunted in greeting. Winchester grunted back.

"That big talk mean it's still workin'?" Logan asked with a nod at the fancy equipment and the men monitoring it.

"I guess," Winchester rumbled back. "Did Sam tell you about Jess?"

"Dean did," Logan replied with a nod. "Explains why he's been moodier than usual."

"Tell me about it," Winchester sighed. "God, if it's not one then it's the other."

"Congratulations, by the way," Logan added. The guy shot him a strange look. "For becomin' a grandfather."

His brow furrowed and his mouth drew out in a tight line. "Grandfather?" he mumbled to himself. "That can't be right."

"That's usually the way it works, bub," Logan informed him. Now he was startin' t' enjoy talkin' to Winchester.

Both of Libby's parents turned from the window. "What was that?" Colonel Darling demanded, striding toward them. "What about becoming a grandfather?"

Winchester shrugged. "I guess so. I never thought about it like that."

"Why weren't we told?" the Colonel demanded, back ramrod straight, shoulders squared. "Sir, I demand an explanation."

One corner of Winchester's mouth quirked, kind of like when he mentioned sneakin' off t' hunt something nearby and escape this madhouse for a few hours. Logan leaned back against the wall to watch the show.

"Well, it didn't really concern you," Winchester said real slow-like, drawin' it out. Not laughin' would be a mite tricky here in a few seconds.

Red crept up into the Colonel's cheeks and his eyes blazed at Winchester. You could see he was dyin' to order a court-martial.

"Then it isn't our daughter who is pregnant?" Missus Darling asked. She was the smart one.

"No ma'am," Winchester said with this nasty self-satisfied smile. Logan had to choke back his laugh as the Colonel's eyes snapped from person to person.

"Not Elizabeth?" he demanded.

"No sir, Colonel," Winchester replied though there was little respect in it. Maybe Dean's daddy had been feelin' a mite jealous lately hisself.

"Then who?" Missus Darling asked as her husband's face cooled off. "Are you talking about Jessica?"

Winchester nodded. "But I don't think they're ready for a general announcement just yet. She has a medical condition that makes this a high risk pregnancy."

"Considering the father is a healer, I wouldn't expect that to be too serious," Colonel Darling replied. He gave a military turn on his heel to return to the window.

"You shouldn't tease him," Missus Darling whispered to Winchester. He acted like she'd slapped him in the face. With a reprimanding look, she went to join her husband at the window.

That was great. Logan couldn't wait t' tell Dean about it later.

* * *

After his verbal slap in the face John required a few minutes to recover. He could almost feel Logan laughing at him. At least the man had the good sense not to show it.

Not to show it. That was what had been bothering him. The idea had been niggling at the back of his brain for nearly a week, ever since Libby woke up. Maybe it was because Dean was no longer worried but since his son seemed to age years during the past week, especially after discovering the extent of brain damage, John doubted it.

"Has anyone noticed?" he asked of no one in particular. "Dean doesn't seem to be leaking emotions any more."

All heads in the room turned his way and Logan raised his hand like a schoolboy.

"I have," Logan added with a nod. "Man am I glad. It's bad enough when the kid is moody, when he makes e'erbody on campus act moody? Makes me wanta run away and hide."

"Speaking of," John added with a knowing look at Logan, "I might have a lead on a werewolf."

"Yeah?" Logan's eyes took on a life of their own. Secretly John had dubbed it 'Logan's hunting look.' "I been wantin' t' go after one-a them."

"Gentlemen," Xavier interrupted before John could relate any details, "what were you saying about Dean? He is no longer leaking?"

Did Mister Big Man look happy about that? John thought back to when Dean discovered Xavier had ordered blood tests for the mutant gene without permission. He would be willing to bet most of the school staff had been aggravated with no good reason for at least a week. Man had he been glad that one had not been directed at him.

"Doctor McCoy, is there a way to test this?" Xavier demanded, ignoring the real-time graphs and charts of John's sons' energy levels flashing around him.

"You know, I think I'd prefer you two stay on task. Since this will probably be Libby's last treatment you and Hank can dream up ways to torment Dean with more tests later." John glared at both of them with his arms crossed over his chest. On this one he refused to accept 'no' for an answer. Logan's lack of argument meant he was in agreement with John. For a change.

"I agree," Colonel Darling added while staring out the observation window at his daughter.

"Now by last treatment do you mean with Dean acting as this battery thing? I'm afraid I really do not understand all this." Missus Darling peered intently in Xavier's direction.

"Yes, Missus Darling," Xavier answered. "Honestly the worst damage has been contained and is showing signs of remarkable improvement. This session is to reassess her medical condition and assuming all is as well as can be expected, focus on bone growth. Sam claims it is his specialty."

John heard the reprimand in the man's tone and ignored it. If it were not for Dean needing him here he would have disappeared right after killing the demon. There was still a lot of clean-up to do and he had four more bullets for the colt.

"Mister Winchester," Missus Darling turned to him. "I have been dying to ask, how do you find the ghosts you hunt?"

"Mother..." Colonel Darling mumbled from station at the window.

"No, really, I'd love to know. Besides, this healing thing usually lasts another half hour, doesn't it? It is so boring standing there watching essentially nothing."

He could see where Libby's pretty eyes came from. John felt himself caving to her request.

"It all starts with the research."


	105. Chapter 105: Released

**Chapter 105: Released**

****A/N: It looks like I forgot to update last week. Sorry - so here's a double-dose to make up for it.

* * *

Sam watched Dean push Libby out of the clinic in a wheelchair with a deep sense of fulfillment. If only Jess' body would be so agreeable. Of course he had no illusion that the only reason it worked so well was because of Dean.

It was good to know if things went too out of control with Jess that he had a back-up plan. Dean wouldn't think twice about helping out, he would probably offer and then slap Sam in the back of the head for not asking sooner.

Feeling pretty darn good about it all, Sam walked back to the small room he and Jess shared. She needed a lot more rest lately, the clots were worst when she pushed herself too much. At least it had been her idea to just do the therapy sessions with the kids, sitting, and then go back to the room. If he had needed to insist on it, knowing Jess it might have turned into an ugly argument. They had been fighting too much about her health as it was.

When he opened the door he found her stretched out on the bed reading a magazine. He did not need to look at the cover to know it was either about babies or decorating for babies.

"How did it go?" Jess demanded before he could close the door. "What did Doctor McCoy say about Libby?"

"He released her," Sam replied with a grin. "I think Dean is happier than her parents."

"That is good news!" One foot pointed to the corner of the bed, an invitation to join her. Sam sat. "When do you think Dean will start teaching again? The kids really miss him. Oh, did anyone mention when Libby could go back to work? Julie reopened the library but she is such a mess no one wants to go in there."

"Really?" Sam kicked off his shoes. "Which one is she again?"

"Black hair with purple on the end. And it's natural, I asked," Jess replied.

Of course she asked and only Jess could get away with asking a question like that.

"Yeah, I think I know who you're talking about. She ran out of the clinic crying when she came to visit, right?" Sam scooted further on to the bed where he could put his feet up and stretch out next to Jess and facing her. He pulled her feet against his side to rub her calves which usually bothered her. This also allowed him to scan her legs for signs of blood clots without her noticing. He knew her body so well now he could almost do this in his sleep.

"That's her." Jess sighed and shook her head, her long blond hair falling around her shoulders. "I keep trying to tell her that Libby is doing really well, but she can not move past Libby asking her name. Do you think all librarians are that insecure?"

Sam shrugged, shifting his hand to massage under her right calf. There was a lump there he did not care for. "Who knows?" Under his touch the lump melted down until he could not feel it any more. He continued his search up and down that calf.

"It may go with the basic librarian personality type," Jess mused, staring at the wall behind him. All that time in their room gave her way too much time to theorize. He really hoped she would make good use of it by writing a paper to be published. That would help her career later.

Then again, Sam reflected, she already had a guaranteed job here providing therapy sessions for kids dealing with the backlash of surfacing mutant abilities. Xavier had said as much. They could stay as long as they liked. It was an odd feeling to know he could stay in one place, that no battle with his father would be involved.

"Where are Dean and Libby now?" Jess asked. "Are they headed to her room? Can we go visit?"

"I think Dean mentioned stopping by the library first," Sam replied. "That place is her life, you know. Dean says she is convinced that the whole place has fallen to ruin without her. Apparently he is really hoping they'll find at least one book shelved wrong to make her feel needed."

Jess shrugged. "I doubt it. It's been closed most of the time since the ambush. Julie probably hasn't bothered to reshelve anything either."

"Even better," Sam replied with a chuckle, shifting to massage and check out her other calf muscle.

"I guess so." Jess laughed with him. There were two knots hanging together under her knee and her lower left leg was already swelling. Those were not there yesterday. Gently Sam massaged the growing clots and asked them to relax, unclot and go about some other business.

"Oh, thank you, that is so sore," Jess breathed out, lifting her leg to give him better access. Sam lifted it to stretch across his legs and continued his massage.

"How is your dad? Did you hear from him today?" Sam asked, hoping that her father was doing well. Libby had been touch-and-go there for a while and there was no way they could have left the Institute to go check on him.

"He is very happy to be home," Jess reported, eyes slipping closed as she enjoyed her leg and foot massage. "Mom claims that all of his tests look good but I would still like you to check him out later."

"Anything else bothering you?" he asked, trying to hurry the knots along.

She sighed and pulled at the blanket on the bed. "I know I said I would but I haven't told them yet."

Sam paused in his massage while keeping his fingers pressed against the clots, hurrying them along in breaking up. "Told them which part? About your condition or about..."

"Or about my condition?" she demanded with a flare of annoyance out of nowhere. Mentally he reminded himself that pregnant women were like this, it was perfectly natural. A pain in the ass, but natural.

"I have V Leiden and I'm pregnant, Sam. Use the proper terms, don't try to use euphemisms to cover it up," Jess demanded.

"Sorry, baby," Sam replied with a smile. "I'll remember for next time."

"That was pretty bitchy, wasn't it?" Jess asked, her face reflecting her confusion. "Where did that come from?"

"It's all right," he assured her. "And you're right, we need to tell your parents. Should we do it in person?"

"Daddy might shoot you," she replied sternly. "We aren't even engaged."

"Oh. Right." This was as good a time as any. Sam shifted her legs off his so he could stand. In the top drawer of the bureau, under his underwear, he took out a black velvet ring box. Sam returned to the bed, setting the box next to him. Thoroughly enjoying watching her eyes go comically wide at the sight of the box, he lifted her legs back into position over his so he could keep searching for those insidious clots.

"Here." He handed her the small box. "Now we're engaged."

Her lower lip sucked under her front teeth as she stared at the small black box in her hand. Then she shook her head and pulled her legs away from him to tuck under her.

"No. Do it right." Jess tossed it back at his chest.

Sam caught it and wondered what the heck that was supposed to mean. Do it right? He bought the ring. He gave it to her. Was there more?

She waved at the floor beside the bed. "Come on, you should be down on one knee."

This sounded suspiciously like those chick-flick movies she and Libby liked to watch. Unsure if she was serious or seriously screwing with him, Sam eased off the bed to kneel on one knee beside her. He held up the box to her in one hand.

"Ask me," she insisted. Though she sounded demanding he noticed her hands trembled.

Serious. She was super serious. Trying not to roll his eyes over the thought, Sam was certain she planned to memorize this moment and retell it for the rest of their lives. He was totally unprepared for a memorable speech.

What did Dean always say about being caught off-guard without a good story? Keep it simple? Or was it baffle 'em with bullshit? Crap, he never could keep that one straight, Dean always seemed to switch those around without rhyme or reason.

Simple. Jess liked simple and straight forward. He could do this.

"Jessica Moore," he said formally, watching tears appear in her eyes, "will you marry me?" Sam flipped open the small box with his thumb to reveal an engagement ring with the largest rock he could afford. Which was to say, the smallest diamond that had been in the store.

By her reaction he might have thought he just handed her one of the tsar's jewels. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she flapped her hands at him while her cheeks burned red. Was she having some kind of seizure? Concerned he reached for her cheek to scout around, seek out the source of her current fit.

"Put it on," she gulped, the tears coating her cheeks.

Put it on. Sam looked between her and the box he still held. Oh. That. He removed the simple gold band, the one he thought looked classy and elegant, to slip on her finger with the small diamond showing. The instant it was on her finger she flung herself at him, sliding off the bed into his lap. Sam collapsed on the floor holding his girlfriend - check that, fiancé - while she enthusiastically planted kisses over his entire face.

After she calmed enough for them to snuggle up on the bed together, Jess stroked a hand along his arm. "Baby," she asked, "when did you find time to buy a ring? I didn't think you'd left campus without me since we arrived."

"I haven't," he promised. "I bought it before we left Stanford last time."

"Before?" Fresh tears appeared in her eyes. Wasn't an engagement supposed to be happy? What was up with all this crying? Then she was all over him again, her arms nearly squeezing the life out of him.

"You are the sweetest man who ever lived!" she squealed in his ear.

Okay. He did good. Sam was not sure why that was so good, but he did good. He would take the good breaks when they came his way.

* * *

Dean was relieved they had discovered not a single book had been reshelved since Libby's accident. Julie had apologized profusely but Lib had been delighted. Her precious library was falling apart without her.

He made an excuse to take her home before they could finish touring her whole library since she was exhausted. Having a pretty good idea that her parents would be waiting for them, Dean maintained a steady pace crossing the campus. Students they passed greeted her warmly, a few who spotted her from across campus came running to see her. Honestly it made him feel pretty good too.

Dean took an exhausted but exhilarated Libby to her little apartment in the teacher's wing. Their apartment. Nah, there was no way he would call it theirs, it was hers. Period. Strong emotions of relief and joy emanated from behind her door. Man he liked her parents.

When he opened the door, her mother rushed to tug the chair through the narrow opening from the front. This place had not been built with wheelchairs in mind. It made Dean realize how all the other doorways and rooms in the mansion had been carefully structured to accommodate Xavier's chair. He never intended to come in here, obviously.

Her tiny sofa had been pushed against one wall and a chair he did not recognize stood where it used to. That left plenty of space for her chair in front of the television. Missus Darling took over Libby's chair to wheel into the space they had cleared. Good smells came from the little kitchen. Her father sat on the sofa and beamed at them, waving Dean into the solitary chair.

Rather confused but willing to play along, Dean sat in the chair next to Libby while Missus Darling raced back into the kitchen.

"I hope everyone likes spaghetti," she called out, a happy note in her voice. The good feelings in this place were like a drug, dulling his senses until he could not think of ulterior motives, hidden agendas, or anything sneaky. All Dean could do was take everything he saw at face value. It was a luxury he had never been afforded before and now he could not help himself.

"Love it, Mom!" Libby shouted, her reply followed by a laugh as she reached out to grasp his hand. "Don't we?" Again her eyes took on a sparkle of life.

"Are you planning to make me watch another cartoon?" Dean demanded, trying like hell to keep the grin off his face.

"I might," she teased.

"Cartoon?" the Colonel asked.

"Lady and something." Libby paused, frowning. Her free hand drummed on the armrest of the wheelchair as her attention drifted away, her eyes staring unfocused at the floor. "Tramp!" she added suddenly, her gaze jumping up to him. "Lady and the Tramp?"

Dean shrugged. "If you say so. I just remember it was a cartoon about dogs eating spaghetti."

Her nose scrunched up as she made a face at him. "Falling in love."

"Oh, I love that movie," her mother interjected from the kitchen. "Most romantic movie ever made."

"So that's where you get it," Dean accused her.

She nodded without bothering to think about it. "Probably."

"If you young folks don't mind me asking," Colonel Darling broke in, "what is the plan now?"

Libby frowned, confusion mixing with all the good feelings from today. "Plan? What plan, Dad?"

As usual calling him 'dad' made the Colonel pause. Dean had begun to suspect she was doing that on purpose, daring her father to call her on it.

"To be blunt, your plans," he replied, leveling a strong look at both of them.

"Colonel," Missus Darling admonished from a few feet away.

"Not now, Mother," he replied gruffly, his face as stern as his voice, "I want an answer. Dean, what are your intentions regarding my daughter?"

Damn it. And no where to run and hide. Not in an apartment this small. He swallowed hard, wondering if he dared make a run for it. Colonel Darling wasn't armed, he took a plane here. At least, Dean assumed the man was not armed. That might be wrong. The man was a full-bird colonel, there was no telling how resourceful he was.

"Daaaaad," Libby groaned beside him. "God, I've only been home five minutes and you're already grilling my boyfriend? Jesus!"

The Colonel's gaze snapped to his daughter. "Watch your-"

"Don't you dare!" Libby snapped harshly, all joy gone from her face and emotions. One finger stabbed the air in her father's direction. "Don't you dare tell me to watch my tongue. You are in my house, buster. Daddy, I love you, but I am an adult. If Dean and I decide to marry or just to live together forever, that's our business, not yours. Understood, soldier?"

Dean wished he could be invisible like Joe or able to slide back through the couch like Kitty. Sitting between Libby and her father arguing over him was...unimaginable. And the strangest part? Neither one of them was really angry. Well, Libby was a little, but not seriously angry. Logan generated more irritation by breathing.

Colonel Darling stared at his daughter for a long and uncomfortable minute. "Yes, ma'am."

Sweet relief, light and sugary coated all of the irritation and aggravation from only a second ago. Her hand gripped his tighter as the Colonel's gaze drifted to him. Dean had the feeling this conversation was not over, it would pick up the instant Libby was out of earshot.

"Did she really just call me buster?" he asked softly.

"And soldier," Dean agreed, holding her hand tight as her emotions settled.

"He is a soldier," her mother replied, walking in to place a bowl of spaghetti in her daughter's lap. She handed a second bowl to Dean while she shot her husband a strong glare. "One who should have known better."

Colonel Darling sighed as he watched his wife walk away. "I suppose I had that coming." He massaged his forehead using his fingertips, reminding Dean of the way Xavier acted when his stress level was high. "This week has been...difficult."

"We have been discussing moving," Missus Darling announced when she returned holding two more bowls. She gave one to her husband before taking a seat beside him, wobbling enough to need his assistance in sitting without spilling her bowl. "Dean, do you suppose you could help with researching houses? We would like to avoid one with prior residents hanging around."

"Moving where?" Libby demanded, more surprised than annoyed.

"Closer," Dean told her before diving into his supper. Their conversation faded into the background as he ate. By the time he came back up the atmosphere in the room had turned light and jolly.

"I think he's back," Libby said happily. "Dean, do you think you could help my parents find a place near town? Not in town, they like their neighbors to be close enough to borrow sugar but far enough not to hear Dad cussing the football coaches."

Colonel Darling shrugged and took another bite of spaghetti. Maybe he and Dad had more in common than Dean thought.

* * *

So happy to be released from her gilded cage, Libby forgot how sore her body was. Now it screamed its complaints because she had overdone it. This was exactly what both Doctor McCoy and Sam had warned her about. The biggest problem was she could not lie about it, she knew full well that Dean could share her pain as well as her emotions. These days the emotions went the other way too, from him to her. Libby was certain it had not always been that way.

She wished she could remember the exact moment their bonding took place. For her it was like being married but having forgotten about a wedding. Considering the number of things she had forgotten that was a possibility except she felt certain Dean would have mentioned it. Especially after his reaction when she told him they needed to be married.

The door opened to admit Dean, he had walked her parents down the hall to the room where they were staying. He frowned as he closed the door behind her.

"You can lose the fake smile," he informed her, his frown deepening. "I'm tempted to go get Sam."

Libby shook her head. "Oh no, please don't. I don't want the lecture about doing too much today. I'll take it easy tomorrow, I promise." She held out her hand. After a moment's hesitation he stepped forward to take it, his warm flesh pressed against hers the greatest reassurance possible. Letting loose her emotions, how happy she felt he was here with her, how amazed she still was that he stayed by her bedside the whole time, how grateful she was that he came into her life, she tried to bombard Dean with all the feel-good emotions she could in the hopes he would forget about wanting to track down his brother.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered as he dropped her hand. Before she could protest he stood behind her chair and started rolling her back. Libby tried not to panic about if he was taking her back to the clinic. God she hated that place. All Hank knew how to do was jab needles into her arm and give her pills, pills and more pills. It was absurd.

While she was distracted thinking about those dreaded pills, his hand landed on her shoulder as he swiveled her chair around. Sweetness, not overly sweet, smooth and creamy coated her tongue. It honestly took her a moment to realize that they were headed for the bedroom.

"It might be dusty," he warned her, pausing to push the door open in front of them. "I haven't been in here."

The bed appeared untouched. She recognized by the way it was made she had been the last person to sleep in here. "Why not?"

"Uh..." A disquiet crept up her spine, tart and bitter insecurities piercing past the enduring sweet flavor which had no name. "Why don't you sleep in your dress? I'll help you into the bathroom so you can brush your teeth."

"I'd like to change," she replied, going along with his avoidance. The reason was obvious if she bothered to think about it. She had the best boyfriend on the face of the Earth.

He gave her a funny look when she insisted on changing out of her day clothes.

"Unless you're going to feel too hot and bothered by it?" Libby teased. Hot sultry glances had never been her strong suit so she expected to appear humorous as she batted her eyes at him

Instead of laughing Dean sighed, hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea how tired you are?"

"Do you have any idea how many things are wrong with that sentence?" Libby demanded right back of him.

"What?" Dean asked, orange-flavored confusion overriding everything except the sweetness. "I thought my grammar was pretty good that time."

"It's my body and yes, I know I'm tired," she snapped, the words harsher than she intended. "And I really hope the only flavored emotions I pick up are yours. Is it this strong for you?"

Dean helped her stand and then watched over her brushing her teeth and washing her face from the door. "All emotions have flavor," he told her as she readied for bed. "How much flavor depends on whether or not I'm screening out that person and how much I like him." He grinned at her in the mirror. "Or her."

"Better not be another 'her'," Libby insisted with a snarl at his reflection. He actually chuckled that time and his worry, the source of the tartness, lightened. Pleased that she managed to alleviate some of his stress, she hurried through the rest of her nighttime routine. Without a word he helped her change for bed.

When he helped her lay down her back protested her abuse of it today. Ow. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she focused on an image in her mind of Dean wearing a hard hat and really tight jeans. Not worrying about where the image originated, she let it play out in her head and soon the back pain receded.

It was almost too soon when Dean climbed into bed next to her. He hesitated when he looked at her, she guessed not knowing if she could or wanted to snuggle.

She turned on her good side where the ribs were not bruised as badly. "I can lay down like this," Libby offered.

After flashing her a small smile Dean jumped out of bed to race behind her and crawl in. He moved slow and gentle. When the heat from his chest soaked through her nightgown it was a relief, followed quickly by a gentle yet constant pressure against her back. A strong arm slipped around her waist and another under her neck. She leaned back into his encompassing and gentle hold. Finally. Libby was home.


	106. Chapter 106: Bobby Time

**Chapter 106: Bobby Time**

* * *

Ducking Kitty was proving to be impossible. Logan had warned him that his apology "tweren't enough". He apologized, said she was right, and that wasn't enough. He would never understand girls.

Dean actually taught the demons class today and about time too. Every class Mister Winchester had been covering had made plans to revolt. Bobby had kinda been looking forward to Mister Summers' reaction and to see if that would bring Dean back. Fortunately things turned out fine without a full scale student revolt.

When the bell rang to dismiss them for lunch Dean waved at him to stay behind. Shouldering his backpack, he walked over to wait by the desk. Sometimes, before Miss Libby was hurt, Dean would invite him to sit at the teachers' table which meant skipping ahead in the lunch line. That was always cool.

"Did I hear someone mention a walkout?" Dean asked. The few other students left in the room rushed out the door leaving him and Dean alone. Cowards.

"Your dad isn't real popular," Bobby replied, figuring that said it all.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe now they'll take some of the stories about when I was a kid seriously."

Bobby returned the shrug. "Maybe. Since you're back, does that mean Miss Libby is better?"

"And asking about you." Dean shot him a strong look. "You're eating lunch with us today. That Julie chick promised to bring her on time if I could guarantee you would be there."

He swallowed hard. Though Logan had forced him to visit Miss Libby in the clinic and he had seen for himself that she was recovering, he had not been able to go back on his own. It was too hard. Clearly Dean intended to force the issue.

"What's wrong with you, anyway?" Dean asked. Standing, he leaned back against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest. "You're so scared I'd think that yellow-eyed bastard had visited you again."

"Green," Bobby reminded him. "That bastard had green eyes and he's still out there." Plenty of reason to be scared, Bobby silently assured himself.

"Oh. Right." Dean scratched at the back of his neck. "Guess I forgot about that one. Huh." He stared at Bobby for a moment. "He doesn't come into your dreams, does he?"

Bobby shook his head. Since the ambush none of his nightmares had involved yellow eyes, or green ones for that matter. Fire was still the theme but now it was fiery car doors squishing people he cared about. Last night he must have dreamed about his mom being squished three times before he gave up and woke Steve. They had played cards until it was time to dress for school.

"Good." Dean stood upright. "You are coming to lunch and I don't care how you feel about it. Libby wants to see you. She's convinced that you're hurt and I can't talk her out of it." He jerked his chin at the door. "Move it."

With a deep sigh of dread, Bobby moved it. He headed out into the hall which was nearly deserted, all of the kids crowded into the huge line at the cafeteria. At least if he was with a teacher they should be able to skip ahead. To his surprise they bypassed the lunch line to head straight for the table. He was not even allowed to eat?

"Logan should have our trays at the table," Dean assured him, one hand falling heavily on his shoulder making escape impossible.

As they pressed through the mass of student bodies Bobby saw Miss Libby. She was in a wheelchair but that looked like it was the only thing wrong with her. She was smiling and talking to Miss Julie, her hair down, the red reading glasses hanging around her neck. Miss Libby had always worn the kind of dresses his grandma liked with the big flower prints and really loose. This was not a grandma dress. It was a rich purple, solid color not a print, hugging her body in all the right places, and for the first time Bobby saw that Miss Libby was kind of hot. For an older lady. Okay, that was another really good reason for Dean to date her. Wow. Between that and her awesome-mom personality Dean had been doomed.

"We're here!" Dean announced brightly, his hand clamped uncomfortably tight on Bobby's shoulder.

Miss Libby turned to look at them and her mouth spread into a wide bright grin while both arms opened. He assumed it was meant for Dean.

"Bobby!" she shouted loud enough for the next two tables to hear. Bobby could swear he felt heads swivel around to watch him as the Librarian waved him into her embrace.

Awkwardly he leaned down to hug her in the chair and then she stood up, her chair rolling back about a foot, to pull him in closer. He was not sure if he should feel shocked or relieved, shocked that she wanted to hug him like this or relieved that she could stand on her own.

"Lib," Dean chided from behind him, "you promised Sam and Hank you'd stay in that chair."

"Oh, it's Bobby," Libby replied with clear disdain for doctor's orders, her arms tightening around him. When her crushing embrace loosened, Miss Libby leaned back to take a good look at him. "Oh, I wish you weren't so busy with your training so you could visit more."

Confused, Bobby glanced back at Dean whose face had gone hard.

"Combat," Dean replied, his eyes demanding that Bobby play along. "And using your ice in unexpected situations."

That sounded like some good training. Where was it?

"Yeah," Bobby said instead, trying to avoid her gaze. "They're keeping me pretty busy."

"Come on." She tugged at his arm until he sat beside her. Dean pushed her wheelchair under her and up to the table. Miss Libby grinned, reaching over impulsively to give his arm a squeeze while Dean sat on his other side.

"Is it me," asked an all too familiar girl's voice, "or does food taste better at the teacher's table?"

His gaze jumped from the tray in front of him to meet Kitty's unwavering eyes directly across the table. Damn it. What the hell was she doing here? Dean didn't mention this would be a freaking ambush. The last one didn't turn out too well either.

"All of my favorite people in one place," Miss Libby was saying, sounding entirely too pleased about the whole thing.

"Run off and I will chase your ass down," Dean whispered into Bobby's ear, words hotter than his breath.

"Dean?" Miss Libby's voice had Dean snapping upright to listen attentively. "I asked if we could have a movie night soon? Maybe in the rec room? Popcorn, pizza, and a monster movie?"

"Sure, baby," he replied smoothly. "I'll take care of it."

"Good." She turned to Miss Julie. "You too, of course. We'll start with Logan's favorite. Is that the giant ant one?" Now she was asking the table in general. This led to a discussion of monster movies and who liked what.

Bobby tried to focus on eating but his appetite was gone. He spent more time pushing his food around than eating it. It was the mention of his name that brought him back to the conversation at the table.

"What?" His head snapped up and tried to figure out what he had missed.

Miss Libby smiled her warm 'mom' smile at him. For a brief moment Bobby felt like that smile was meant for him alone.

"I asked if you would walk me back to the library. I need to take care of one or two things before I'm done for the day," she replied.

"Libby," Dean warned, drawing out her name in a slow growl.

"Then I'll go back to my room," she told him, scrunching her nose at Dean and appearing so comical Bobby found himself chuckling at her.

"Skip class if you have to," Dean insisted, grabbing Bobby by the arm, his eyes boring holes through Bobby's skull. "But you make sure she doesn't spend more than fifteen minutes back at the library."

"Dean!" Miss Libby protested, which Dean pretended not to hear.

"All right? I'll tell your afternoon teachers what you're doing," Dean insisted. His eyes reflected desperation and being on the verge of panic. And was that a promise of no more class today if he went with Miss Libby?

"I'll make sure," Bobby promised. "I'll walk her all the way back to the teacher's wing."

Dean shot her a smug glance past Bobby and Miss Libby rolled her eyes. After making Miss Libby eat most of what was on her tray, Dean let them leave.

Bobby walked beside her electric wheelchair and wondered if it was Professor X's spare. Or maybe his old one. Instead of heading straight for the library she pulled up beside a park bench along the walk. He hesitated, unsure what she was up to. After a few glances at the bench from Miss Libby he figured out she wanted him to sit. So he sat.

"I don't really need to do anything at the library," she told him. Then a sneaky grin broke over her face. "But don't tell Dean. It's my excuse to escape for a few hours a day and feel useful. Julie is perfectly capable of running the place."

"When she isn't crying her eyes out," Bobby pointed out. He had found it insulting that the library had been closed in her absence. Wouldn't a better tribute have been longer hours and showing more dedication?

"Was she?" Miss Libby seemed pleased by his observation. "Julie is a good friend."

Then she went all serious and he had a bad feeling. This was starting to feel like whenever his mother said, 'Bobby, we need to talk.' Those never went anywhere good.

"Bobby, I know there are no special combat classes for you. Yet. There will be but I think Scott and Logan are still working out the specifics. Something about needing equipment that won't break when it's frozen." One hand waved the excuse away.

"I have spoken with Jess about you. Extensively." Her eyes locked with his. "You're still not sleeping well, are you?"

Swallowing hard over the transparency of an issue he worked hard to cover, Bobby shook his head.

"Nightmares?" she demanded. This time he nodded.

When Miss Libby spoke again her voice was soft, gentle, caring. "I really hope they're not about your mother being squished by flaming car doors."

Tears sprang to his eyes and all the air rushed out of his lungs. How could she know?

"Oh dear," she muttered. After clearing her throat she continued in a stronger voice, one of an adult with authority over him, "Bobby, you are not going to participate in Steve's group therapy for a while. Instead you are to see Doctor McCoy during that time. It's already been arranged, Jess and I figured there was a lot more going on with you and Hank agrees.

"Don't worry about your deep dark secrets being exposed. Doctor McCoy isn't like that. Believe me, if he were Dean would not see him. As a matter of fact, if he were like that Dean probably would have shot him long before now and would be living off the grid because every mutant in this school would be hunting him down."

He must have given her a funny look when she said this because she chuckled at him.

"I've had a lot of time to stare at the walls and think."

She held out her hand palm up. Bobby hesitated before placing his over hers. He hand was caught up in a vice-like grip.

"Bobby, thank you. I can't imagine any greater compliment than being told I'm a good mom." Her smile was as warm as her voice and he felt his insides relax a little. "And just like your mom, I expect a hug whenever I see you. Is that all right? Or too embarrassing? I have been told that teenage boys don't hug."

"We hug." He had to force the words out and at the same time he knew this was exactly how he wanted things to be. Miss Libby played mom to every kid who woke up with nightmares. Now he could honestly say he had a home mom and a school mom. Knowing she would allow it between classes and during library visits was fantastic. Before she was hurt she had been real strict in the library. It had almost been like she had a separate night-time personality, which was now all the time.

He was rewarded with another awkward sitting hug from her but the knowledge that this was temporary clung to the back of his mind.

"Now since you seem to have a free afternoon," Miss Libby paused and a strange light came into her eyes. They did not glow like a demon or anything but he had never noticed this sparkle in them before. "Why don't you show me the finer points of air hockey?"

* * *

Kitty waited outside the door to Bobby Drake's room knowing how touchy he was about her walking in unannounced. Steve had the door open and had invited her in but she refused, not without Bobby's permission.

His bizarre behavior since the accident, blaming himself and then yelling at her for disagreeing with him, had been the topic of several of her talks with Miss Jess. He remained sullen and silent during group therapy and even with Miss Jess' encouragement she refused to bring up his uncharacteristic behavior while he was present. Kitty doubted she could handle another blow-out with Bobby.

She was determined not to completely lose his friendship. That whole "good mom" comment from their visit to the clinic kept repeating in her head. Kitty knew it was the key but for the life of her could not figure out why. Maybe she should have mentioned it to Miss Jess too but every time she tried to bring it up she felt guilty, almost as if she were betraying his trust in her.

And Bobby yelling and screaming at her was not a betrayal? All of the adults kept saying the teen years were the most confusing, guess this was what they meant.

So she waited right here where he could not ignore her any more. He would have to walk right over her to reach his room.

"We could play cards," Steve offered. With Bobby not participating in group she and Steve had grown closer. He would speak with her one-on-one now even without Bobby present.

Kitty sighed and picked some stray lint from her pants. "No, I don't want to look like we're having a good time."

"No chance of that," Steve muttered, taking out his homework. "If you're just going to sit there I'm going to work on that English essay."

Kitty shrugged, eyes pinned to the hall leading here. "Don't do it on an imaginary pet again. It was obvious you made the whole thing up. Pick something real."

"Like what?" Steve demanded, his voice hard.

Kitty glanced over, surprised by the strength she heard in it. Normally Steve, when he bothered to speak, sounded pretty wimpy.

"What's your assignment this time?" Kitty asked, trying hard not to be annoyed by his tone. Miss Jess had been warning them Steve had a lot of repressed anger that he needed to release.

"Describe your room at home," he read off in a sarcastic tone. "The only real room I ever had was that abandoned theater, until I was kicked out of it for a week and nearly starved to death."

"Write about that," Kitty suggested, returning her attention to the hall. "It's honest, real, and I'm sure your description will make everyone feel like they're really there."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Kitty shrugged without turning around. "There's a reason they've doubled up on your assignments in English."

"Yeah, they're trying to bring me up to grade level," Steve replied though the hardness in his tone was gone. This time he sounded confused.

"Uh-huh. And that's why you're in a math class that isn't doubling up?" She shook her head, boys could be so stupid sometimes. "It's because you are really good at writing and they've increased your pace to give you a challenge."

"What would you know?" Steve scoffed. She heard papers rustling from the direction of the small student desk beside his bed.

"I know what I hear when I listen in on the teachers when they discuss their lesson plans," she replied, not feeling the least ashamed of it. How else could she warn everybody when there would be a pop quiz? "There's a reason all the subjects seem to complement each other, the teachers plan it that way. I think it was Mister Summers' idea."

"Figures." Bobby's voice came from the other direction, the hall to the teachers' wing. Kitty's head snapped up causing a twinge in her neck which she ignored. There was a flash of the anger she had seen so much of lately, then it was gone. "What do you want?"

"You missed the homework assignments," Kitty offered, her mind racing for a legit reason to be here. "I know you like to do your homework early so I thought I'd drop by and tell you what they are."

His eyebrows pulled together and his lips curved down as his gaze darted from her, into the room, then back. "Yeah, okay," he said at long last. "Give me a minute to find a pencil."

She swung her legs out of the doorway so she was no longer blocking it and Bobby walked in. After placing his backpack down he rummaged inside it for a pencil and his trusty homework folder which was showing serious signs of wear. Bobby flipped to a fresh page.

"Okay, shoot."

She related homework for the classes he had missed and he wrote them all down, only speaking to ask for clarifications. When she finished and had no reason to stay any longer, Kitty blurted out the first non-school topic that popped into her head.

"Any idea when movie night will be?"

"Nope." Bobby stared at her for an uncomfortable moment before asking, "Do you want to catch me up on what I missed in history? It would save me some reading."

Relieved did not come close to how she felt. Kitty stood and waited on the other side of the threshold until a wave from Bobby invited her inside. Finally. It felt like years had passed since she had been welcome here.


End file.
